


we are the wild youth

by Dandybear



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Big Sprawling AU, F/F, I Just Have a Lot of Feelings and HeadCanons, Max Stayed in Arcadia Bay AU, Pricefield is Not the Main Pairing in This, Second POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-01 08:48:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4013296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dandybear/pseuds/Dandybear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>adolescence is hard, you stumble and get hurt-- you hurt others, especially the ones you love most. but, you learn and grow, and four years later you're a completely different person.</p><p>AU Where Max stays in Arcadia Bay and William lives, but at what cost? Spans 4-ish years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thirteen

**Author's Note:**

> This thing is a fucking beast. It's consumed me for the past few weeks. Unemployment does this to you, kids. It makes you write long-ass AUs.
> 
> There's a lot of references to music and popular culture in here, and there will be a Soundtrack released with part four. The title is from Youth by Daughter. 
> 
> Now, this isn't one of those multi-chaptered things I never finish. I'm actually 90% done the whole fic. All together it's at 21k right now and, like I said, I'm not done. It's the longest single piece I've done and a huge landmark for me as a writer.
> 
> I'm really nervous about this one. I poured a lot of myself into it. Reviews are a large portion of why I write. Yes, I write because I have stories to tell, but I am also a glory hound starved for affirmations. Please, please, please review. 
> 
> Special thanks to Femslashmonster aka Jade for holding my hand through this and pushing me to keep going.

You are thirteen years old and Chloe’s mouth is hot and wet and tastes nothing like coffee or mint, it’s smoky like the cigarette she stole from her mom. Kisses taste like kisses, you suppose. A car backfires outside and you jerk away. You can hear William swearing and unlocking the front door. You adjust your top, but Chloe’s still pushing her face towards yours.

 

Wind tosses her hair. It’s too hot today and your hands feel sticky.

 

There’s a knock on the door, Chloe moves away.

 

“Come in!”

 

William pokes his head in, his finger’s bleeding and wrapped in a T-shirt.

 

“Chloe, can you come and put away the dishes? I’m gonna make burgers for dinner.”

 

She rolls her eyes, “Again?”

 

Burgers bought in bulk from the wholesale. Even cooked well, they’re like hockey pucks. You twist your hands in the blankets, butterflies prickling your throat. Hurt colours William’s eyes, Chloe ducks her head in embarrassment. She strides past her dad with shoulders up like an angry cat.

 

William rubs between his eyes.

 

“Is your finger okay?” You say.

 

“Yeah. Thanks Max.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

You are thirteen years old and sitting on top of a ramp at the skatepark taking pictures of Chloe in mid-air. Taking pictures of your girlfriend in mid-air.

 

The concrete beneath you is baked by the noon sun. It’s a rare hot day in Arcadia Bay. Thanks, Global Warming. You are a walking freckle.

 

Beside you sits two letters labelled Blackwell Academy. Scholarship letters. You applied for the photography program. Just submitting pictures made you feel like throwing up. In the end, Chloe was the one who meticulously put your photos in a portfolio and submitted them. The same way you breathed down her neck while she wrote a college level physics essay.

 

You’re going to open your letters together. God, you really hope that at least she gets in. She’s so fucking smart and her parents could really use the break.

 

“Mad Max, do you have enough glamour shots?” She says.

 

You tip back with your camera, careful to place it on your lap.

 

“Yeah, come on, let’s read these.”

 

She gets off her board close enough to make you flinch. She scratches the back of her neck, then uses the same hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

 

“Shit, it’s hot. Wanna go to Dairy Queen first?”

 

You look at the sizzle field full of clouds of flies and think about the five dollars you have in your wallet. Getting a summer job in Arcadia is nearly impossible for teenagers, but your dad has been paying you to wash the car and tidy his office.

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

She’s nervous to find out and you are too. This whole thing is standing on the precipice of your future. You tangle your fingers together, but your palms are sweaty and slide together unpleasantly.

 

You keep your mouth closed and teeth clenched so that bugs don’t fly in. The Dairy Queen is an oasis in this too-hot city. The line for the counter stretches to the door. Your hands fall apart. Chloe looks at the empty air between you and and rolls her lower lip.

 

It’s not that you don’t want anyone to know. Your hand is sweaty, that’s all.

 

Yet for the next twenty minutes of line you talk but keep your hands to yourselves. The older man ahead of you keeps turning around and looking at you with concern. You’re sure that you both sound high or insane because you’re talking in your Golem voice about Shakira taking the ring to Mordor and Chloe is pissing herself laughing.

 

“Yeeesss, her hips don’t lie to us, Precious.”

 

“Max, stop, I’m gonna pee my pants!” She says too loud and covers her mouth to hide the blush and sound.

 

“Then use the bathroom, Goof.” You say, shoving her gently.

 

She pouts, but does. You’re nearly at the front of the line when she gets back and you still haven’t decided what you want.

 

You sit down with two dipped cones, Chloe stands and takes a furtive look around before sliding into the booth beside you and resting her arm on the seat behind you. Her hand shakes as she takes the cone from you. The letters have ice cream on them. Your mom’s going to be upset.

 

With a deep breath, you tear the edge of your letter open. Chloe shoves her ice cream into her mouth and does the same.

 

 

* * *

 

 

You are twenty days away from being fourteen years old and attending Blackwall Academy. Unlike the girls in the dorms, you and Chloe take the bus home every day, having the advantage of living in town. And, the disadvantage of not having rich parents.

 

You also have the disadvantage of having no idea how to interact with people. Sometimes they say things that make no sense and then laugh, sometimes you laugh at what they say and they get all offended. It’s all Greek to you.

 

Thank God, you have photography on your first day. Chloe’s taking all academic courses to keep her scholarship (plus PE because that’s a requirement and sooo important).

 

Science (with Chloe) went relatively smoothly. This kid saw the Tardis pin on your bag and wouldn’t stop whispering to you about Doctor Who. Asking who your favourite Doctor is, asking if you’ve watched any of the original series, typical nerd guy test questions. Chloe gave him her best bitchface to shut him up.

 

Photography though. You know photography. There was a rumour that Mark Jefferson would be teaching here this year, but he got a contract with Vogue instead. You’re a little disappointed, he’s a great photographer and a real West Coast Icon.

 

Your plan of attack for this class is focus on the work and avoid putting your foot in your mouth. The latter is easier said than done.

 

You arrive twenty minutes early and sit as far from the teacher’s desk as possible. Already nervous, your knee jitters against the table leg. Looking down, you see a stain on the leg already. Great first impression.

 

Apparently, there’s another keener in this class. Second to enter is a tall girl with short, dark hair. Her wardrobe matches the rest of her appearance, dark, but expensive. All name brands. Nothing bought from Target or Goodwill. She sees you in the back seat and sighs, taking the desk to your left.

 

Go talk to her. Be friendly.

 

You stay in your seat.

 

Max, I swear to god.

 

She’s hunched over her phone, posture reading ‘don’t talk to me’. You respect that. You’ll give her space.

 

Instead you pull out your camera and portfolio. The pictures Chloe chose were really nice. She has a good objective eye. You’re too critical of all of your mistakes.

 

The other girl has her portfolio out, now she’s reading as confident. You think. Her chest is puffed out. The silence goes on and on.

 

You’re going to be brave. The chair scrapes out from under you. It’s deafening enough to make you wince. The girl’s head snaps to look at you. Your posture should read as submissive. Shoulders down, hands empty, back bowed.

 

“Is that your portfolio?” You say.

 

“Yeah.” She says.

 

You can’t tell her attitude from her tone of voice. It’s frustrating. You wish Chloe were here.

 

“C-can I see?” You say.

 

She pushes her hair behind her ear.

 

“Yeah, that’s why I have it out.”

 

Rude maybe?

 

You flip through her portfolio. There’s really professional looking polish to her photos. She knows all about contrast and composition. The leather bound book itself is expensive. Yours was a ‘graduation’ gift from your parents and you know it wasn’t cheap either.

 

Her photos are often stark portraits, a lot of herself, but a few still lifes and landscapes.

 

“Wow, you have a great eye. Can I say, Richard Avedon-esque?” You say.

 

The girl colours and seems to shiver with pleasure. It feels nice. Making people feel good is nice.

 

And she looks a lot nicer now. But she still pushes past you to look at your portfolio. Her perfume isn’t overpowering like the girls who used too much in Middle School. It’s subtle.

 

Her fingers touch the pages of your portfolio almost reverently. She bites her thumb absently and you can see a crease forming between her eyebrows. You feel nervous about the scrutiny and curl your fists inside the pockets of your jeans.

 

Her thick lips are pulled into a taught line.

 

“These are… really good.” She sighs.

 

“W-wow, thanks.”

 

“Did you do that just to show off?” She turns on you.

 

You hold up your hands again.

 

“No, I don’t think my stuff is nearly as good as yours.”

 

She studies you with the same scrutiny as your photos and then slams her index finger next to one.

 

“How do you do that?”

 

“Do what?” You follow her finger.

 

A picture you took of the beach at sunset. They were taking down the volleyball net and the tide had come in and ruined all of the sandcastles.

 

“It should be an ugly and boring shot, but I feel this nostalgia. Like I was there. This picture is like the feeling of sand stuck between your toes and a bit of a sunburn. How the fuck did you do that?”

 

God, she’s pretty when she’s emoting. Bad thoughts.

 

You blink, then shrug, “I think it’s the sandcastles getting washed away. It’s like a loss of innocence, but also a fresh beginning. Kind of like the ending of summer and beginning of fall. Like Robert Frost’s ‘Nothing Gold Can Stay’.”

 

She nods a little and purses her lips. She’s considering your words and you feel like such a fucking nerd.

 

“I’m Victoria Chase.” She holds out a hand.

 

“M-Max Caulfield.”

 

“You’re going to be my partner.” She says, holding your hand hard.

 

Looking up into those dark eyes you nod.

  
Maybe this friend making thing isn’t so hard after all?


	2. Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You haven't lived until you've duct taped someone to a wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to note that I wrote this and the first installment before Episode 3 came out.

You are fourteen years old and having an incredibly tense hang out with your two best friends.

 

Chloe’s being really weird and aggressive.

 

“So, then she says--”

 

“Max, remember that time we went swimming at Bear Creek and saw a Pike? It was hilarious, you got stranded on that island and were afraid to get back in the water.”

 

Victoria purses her lips in annoyance. Chloe lowers her arm from the back of her chair to around your shoulder. You glare at her.

 

“Continue what you were saying, Victoria.”

 

“Actually, I just a text from my Dad. I need to call him.” She says.

 

She leaves her chai latte and you stare at the lipstick stain on the rim. You blink, shake your head, and turn to Chloe.

 

“Chloe, what the hell was that about?”

 

Her eyes dart around, avoiding you.

 

“You two do nothing but talk shop about cameras and photography when I’m around. It’s boring. I just wanted to feel included.”

 

She’s doing that sulky shrug that she does. You try not to sigh too loudly.

 

“Feel included by rudely cutting Victoria off and trying to exclude her from the conversation? Chloe what’s this really about?”

 

Chloe starts emptying the salt shaker into her empty cup. She keeps pausing to check the levels with the pepper shaker, seeming to want to make them even.

 

“I don’t like it when you hang out with her.” She finally says.

 

Your hackles raise, “Do you just want me to not have any friends other than you? Because it’s starting to feel like that, Chloe. First you chased off Wendell--”

 

“Warren.”

 

“Whatever, you chased him away for trying to be my friend--”

 

“Trying to be more than that.” Chloe mutters.

 

“And now you don’t want me hanging out with Victoria. Chloe, I need my own life. Blackwell’s a fresh start for me.”

 

“Victoria doesn’t want to be your friend either.” Chloe says.

 

“What?” You choke on the word. Dread fills you.

 

“Max, they both want to get in your pants. I’m your girlfriend, it’s my job to chase away people trying to get with you.”

 

You make a noise of disgust. That’s just so 1950, “Chloe, that’s fucked up, some really controlling shit.”

 

Tears are beading the corners of her eyes, she rubs her nose and keeps her face by the window. Sadness is pulling at the corners of her mouth.

 

“Like, fuck, you don’t trust me enough to be loyal, even if someone does have a crush on me? What happened to bold declarations of ‘we’ll last forever’?”

 

You snap the friendship/lover bracelet on your wrist for emphasis.

 

“Max, I’m sorry. You just… you don’t see the way people look at you. You’re a lot to lose.”

 

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’m just glad I don’t have to be in the special needs class this year. Braces are enough for my reputation.”

 

Chloe looks at you with so much pain. Her teeth are bared and her mouth pulled taught.

 

“Max, don’t ever think that way about yourself. You’re Mad Max, you’re like the coolest person ever.”

 

Your heart does a double-thump kind of like old cartoons from the thirties. Crying a little, you give her her a teary kiss. It’s supposed to be brisk and affectionate, but Chloe suddenly deepens it to just past inappropriate. You pull back with a wet pop and give her a confused look.

 

Her eyes are glossy and lidded, but she’s smirking. You follow her gaze to Victoria leaving.

 

Your thumping heart falls into the pit of your stomach.

 

 

* * *

 

 

You’re fourteen years old and a stranger in a strange land. The girls dorms. The promised land for many young men and lady loving women such as yourself. Entering, you find something of a cacophony of weekenders. Not everyone can or wants to visit home on the weekends, so the dorms are amuck with shenanigans and bored teenagers.

 

Dana, the tall girl with really nice boobs from your PE, is helping that girl who chews gum in your science class tape Stella, from Photography, to the wall.

 

“Guys! Let her down!” You say.

 

They turn to you, a little puzzled.

 

“We’re going for the record, Max!” Stella says.

 

“Every weekend we see how long we can keep Stella stuck to the wall with duct tape.” Dana says while pulling out another strip.

 

“Except Thanksgiving Weekend.” Alyssa adds.

 

“Yeah, except Thanksgiving.”

 

“It’s their inane hobby.” Says a voice near your head.

 

Victoria’s standing next to you in a baggy cardigan and black framed glasses. The too big cardigan just emphasizes the length of her legs and neck. Your mouth opens a little, there might be drool gathering.

 

“Come on, leave them to their dumb game.”

 

“Play nice, it looks fun.”

 

She grabs your hand and you curl yours against the grain of hers. She squeezes with her fingers and leads you down the hall.

 

“I’ve been wanting to show you my new camera.” She says.

 

“It sounds pretty epic.”

 

She rolls her eyes good naturedly at you and lets you in. You’ve been in her room once or twice during a rare spare block. It’s really tastefully stylish. From what you’ve gleaned about her family, you know that her parents value good decorative taste and a clean room.

 

What you’ve learned about Victoria from her room is that she’s really smart, and also like the biggest nerd.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to show me your action figure collection?” You say, making a beeline for the new statuette on her shelf.

 

She scoffs, turning bright red, and rushes to move it before you can touch.

 

“She’s delicate, Max, and they’re not action figures. They’re figurines, they don’t have joints. They’re not toys. Now, I’m putting them on this shelf so they’re out of the reach of children.”

 

You snort and laugh, “Okay, whatever, Nerd. Tell me again about the differences between your tiny anime girlfriends that you crush with your giant hands.”

 

She’s fully red now and making little choked noises.

 

“Ushio is not my anime girlfriend!” She finally says. “Ugh, why did I even bring you here, you’re the worst.”

 

Feeling bold, you wrap your arms around her waist in a hug, “You invited me because you love me.”

 

You can still feel the heat radiating off her, she nods minutely and presses her chin to your crown. There’s her perfume again. It wraps itself around you, comforting you with its subtle spice.

 

Wait, this hug has gone on too long, you squeeze and tickle her ribs to get a squirmy giggle.

 

Huzzah, any weird tension has been dissipated.

 

You are lying to yourself.

 

“So, are you going to show me your new camera?”

 

She clears her throat and points to her couch. On it sits a Hasselblad 500C/M. You gasp audibly and fall to your knees to bow.

 

“I’m not worthy! If I look directly at it my face will melt off like in Raiders!”

 

Victoria pokes you right in the spine. You flinch and turn to look at her. Her face is hard to read. Happy? Stoned?

 

“It’s yours.” She says.

 

You open your mouth to speak, but it’s gone dry.

 

“Fuck off.” You say.

 

She breaks into a full grin, “It’s your camera. Think of it as a late Birthday and early Christmas present.”

 

There’s a weight on your chest where happiness is being crushed by anxiety.

 

“Victoria, there’s no way I can ever repay this.”

 

She sits next to you and touches your hand.

 

“It’s a gift, Max.”

 

You hug her hard. Her heart is thumping loudly by your ear. This girl, this grumpy, nerdy, sweet girl. She gave you a camera that you mentioned wanting once.

 

Your heart’s being pulled in two different directions and it literally feels like each strand of tissue is being ripping it half. You push it down and grin up at her.

 

“However, if you do want to repay me, then you can model for me and not complain about the music I put on.”

 

“See, I knew you lured me in here. Using the camera as bait.” You say.

 

She puts on hip hop because that’s her go-to genre. And, while you were reflexively critical of it, you’ve learned that there’s a lot of cool and different stuff out there than what you’ve heard on the radio.

 

“Who are we listening to, today?” You say.

 

“k-os, and maybe some Gorillaz. Their stuff is pretty chill. Gorillaz dips more into trip hop and electronic, but k-os does indie rap with good recording quality.” She says, setting up a playlist.

 

It’s a chill with a good beat, you bop along, looking at your new camera. It’s too beautiful to touch. You can feel the air around Victoria’s camera by your head. The music helps distract you from being photographed.

 

“Max, do you feel comfortable dancing?” She asks.

 

You laugh uneasily, “No one feels comfortable with me dancing. I just kinda flail.”

 

You dust your knees off and stand, looking up at Victoria. Her lips are pursed and her eyes are narrowed. The light’s hitting the side of her face making the webs of grey and gold in her eyes stand out. You wish you were the one with the camera.

 

“Here, let me show you.”

 

She lowers her camera and grabs your hips from behind. You squeak too quiet for the music. She brings her hips flush with yours. Your breath catches. She rolls her hips, rotating with the music. You don’t feel like you’re doing it right, but being so close is nice.

 

“Just move with the music.” She whispers, hot, near your ear.

 

She twists her chest in tandem with her hips, twisting behind you. You follow her lead to the best of your ability.

 

Her hands are still digging into your hips and you can feel that heat burrowing into your stomach. You want her to splay a full hand or push up your shirt.

 

No, no you don’t. You think about dancing with Chloe at a concert. She loves moshing, all jumping and punching the air. Chloe with her cute hair cut and skateboard. Chloe who is taking you to the beach after school. Your best friend. Your first time for everything.

 

You wrap an arm around Victoria’s neck. If Chloe did this with someone else you’d be devastated.

 

Contrary to popular belief, this is not a love song. k-os says. Right now, you’d have to disagree.

 

 

* * *

 

 

You’re fourteen years old and your heart is breaking. Tears, sticky and hot, trail down your face and mix with the snot running from your nose.

 

“Chloe, please.” You sob.

 

Her arms are folded over her chest and she’s crying too.

 

“Max, this is better for both of us in the long run. You’re too loyal to physically stray, I get it. But, Max, you’ve been emotionally cheating on me and that’s worse.”

“I haven’t! I didn’t cheat. It’s okay to tell your friends you love them. I asked Dana.”

 

Chloe’s face screws up as she tries to sniff through mucus.

 

“Max, telling your friend you love them is one thing. Buying them a thousand dollar fucking monogrammed camera is goddamned dowry!” She hits the wall beside her and winces.

 

“It. Was. A. Gift!” You say.

 

You hear your mom pull into the driveway, but you don’t care. You aren’t going to keep your voice down when Chloe’s trying to break up with you.

 

“A gift you friggin reciprocated, Max! A CD?! Really. You wrote her a song. I didn’t even know you could play guitar.”

 

“I was going to surprise you for our anniversary! I was gonna play ‘Sugar We’re Goin’ Down' because I know it’s your favourite.”

 

She scrunches her face up again. Your mom calls for help with the groceries. You stay where you are.

 

“That’s the thing, Max.” Chloe starts, then swallows, “You only think of me when you’re supposed to. Events like birthdays and holidays, you talk about Victoria and give her gifts all the time.”

 

“That’s not fair, Chloe. I’ve given you tons of gifts over the years, I always pay for dinner when we go on dates.”

 

Holy shit,  was that ever the wrong thing to say.

 

“Yeah, I know, I’m such a charity case that you think I can’t pay for things myself. I was wondering when you were finally gonna lord that over me. Fuck you, Max. I don’t need you to look after me any more. Why don’t you go and save your rich girlfriend for a change.”

 

With that, Chloe storms out.

 

You stand there with shaking fists and wet, red cheeks. You hear your mom’s concern as she greets Chloe, and then the swinging of the screen door followed by the rumble of her retreating skateboard.

 

It takes twenty minutes before your mother comes up to check on you. You’ve been listening to your neighbours watch soccer in Spanish and the kids down the road play hockey in their driveway.

 

“Hey, are you okay?” She dips her head and lowers her voice.

 

The tears you had swallowed come back at full force.

 

“Chloe broke up with me.” You choke out.

 

“Oh, Sweetheart.”

 

But you can read your mom and there’s some resigned relief there.

 

 

* * *

 

 

You’re fourteen and bored out of your mind rotting in Arcadia Bay over the summer. There’s nothing to do but work, get stoned, or play video games. The skate park is now forbidden grounds. The land Chloe took in your divorce.

 

Though, you do actually have something to look forward to. You got accepted into a week long photography camp in Seattle. It starts tomorrow and lines up with the Fourth of July, and you have plans to meet Victoria on your time off to explore together.

 

Her summer is also not so great. She’s been working the desk in her parents studio to avoid their incredibly empty modern mansion. She’s afraid to say so, but you can tell how lonely being home makes her.

 

Bits and pieces of her parents come out when she’s in one of her moods. She’ll get angry and negative about absolutely fucking everything, and then it’ll slip out.

 

‘Mom took Thomas with her to Hong Kong for the week. Dad’s still in London.’

 

And for all her Facebook friends and followers, she still never uploads pictures of her hanging out with them back home. She goes to parties sometimes, but her smile is always fake.

 

You miss her, and you miss Chloe. Chloe was the oasis in the boring dunes of Arcadia Bay. You could give her a plastic bag and she’d make it the most fun thing in the world.

 

Both of you were like that, at least together. Your dad even fondly called you, ‘Garbage Patch Kids’.

 

Well, at least in Seattle there are more exciting activities that poking roadkill with sticks and hanging out in the deli section of Shop N Save.

 

For now you’re just getting really into photography blogging. Victoria got you into Blogspot, you’ve actually got a few followers already. You can’t wait for your photography camp pictures to go up on there.

 

It’s only like twenty hours away, but you almost feel like sleeping at four PM so that you can be closer to leaving.

 

Instead, you go downstairs and help your dad with dinner. Mom’s on the phone with a client and makes a hand flapping gesture encouraging the two of you to eat without her.

 

Like, you’re not going to be eating with her for a week, you can wait for her to finish her call.

 

Instead, you sit at the table and text. You look up to see your dad peering at you over his John Grisham book.

 

“What?”

 

“Who’re you texting?”

 

“Victoria.”

 

He hums, “The elusive Victoria.”

 

“Elusive?” You put the phone down.

 

“Only in that you’ve never had her over here for dinner.”

 

“She spends like all of her time studying during the school year. We could barely hang out outside of class, anyway.”

 

“You know your mother and I support you and whomever you choose to love, right?”

 

“No, I thought you were stewing in quiet homophobia when you took me to Pride every year.” You laugh.

 

Your phone buzzes and you grab it immediately.

 

Your dad chuckles and shakes his head.

 

\--

 

Seattle is colder than Arcadia Bay, even if they’re both on the coast. Something about a rain shadow and increased precipitation. You dad rattles off about it like he does every time you visit the city.

 

You turn up the stereo system because Graceland is the best road trip album and the titular song just captures the romance of travel. He smiles with the corner of his mouth.

 

“You know, someday you’ll have stories you repeat all the time too.”

 

“I can’t hear you! I’m going to Graceland, Memphis Tennessee.”

 

“My travelling companion is fourteen years old, she is the child of my first-and only-marriage.” He sings.

 

You slept like a grand total of two hours last night and you’re only awake because you’re vibrating from a caramel macchiato.

 

The camp is at a studio downtown near the water. The roads are more like paved hills and you stretch your arms out like when on a roller coaster.

 

Your dad helps you check into your hotel. It’s no four star hotel, but it has a nice view of the side of the building next to it. Oh, and it’s less than a ten minute walk to your ‘campus’.

 

“Orientation’s at two, Dad.”

 

“I just don’t understand why you need orientation for a week long program.”

 

“Because they need to cover their asses for liability.” You say.

 

“Who is this shrewd person and what has she done with my daughter?”

 

“This is puberty calling. I have taken Maxine captive for the next six years, mwahahaha!”

 

He ruffles your hair.

 

“Come on, I’ll get you pancakes on our way to school.”

 

The studio’s located in an old brick building with a very modern security system. It fits in with the ‘old meets new’ industrial aesthetic of downtown Seattle.

 

You pick at lint on your sweater in the elevator up. Part of you is glad your dad is coming in with your to meet your instructors, the other part feels uncool at needing your dad with you. It’s a good thing you’re early.

 

There’s no one in the studio but a tall bald guy with a goatee and the blonde girl he’s talking to. You assume he’s an instructor and she’s a fellow student.

 

“I sure hope there are other adult supervisors. Don’t feel comfortable leaving two girls with a strange man.” Your dad says.

 

As if summoned, a woman carrying a waiver and a coffee approaches the two of you.

 

“You need to sign this.”

 

She presses the clipboard into your hands. You pretend to read it like an adult, before blindly signing and handing it back to her. You can hear the tone of the girl with the instructor and already the corners of your mouth are turning up.

 

You push past the woman and see the blonde girl turning toward you. Blonde hair, black framed glasses and red lipstick.

 

“You jerk! You didn’t tell me you signed up!” You say.

 

You’re laughing and she’s pulling you into a hug. She tucks her chin against your head and you sway together.

 

“Surprise.” She says.

 

“Your head looks like a lemon.” You grumble against her chest.

 

“Does it really?” She sounds worried.

 

You lean back and ruffle it. It’s soft and you don’t have to feel guilty about the expression she gives you.

 

“Yeah, but in a good way. It suits your sourpuss.”

 

Victoria shoves you back, “Ass.”

 

“You love it.”

 

A throat clears and you notice your dad is standing right there. He has this big grin and you blush and grab your arm.

 

“Dad, this is Victoria. Victoria, this is my dad.”

 

“Pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m Victoria Chase.”

 

“Likewise, I’m Jack. This one talks about you all the time.” He says.

 

You glare at him. Victoria smiles politely, she’s in ‘parent-charming’ mode. God, you feel like it’s prom night and they’re making small talk at the door and all you want to do is get in the limo.

 

“We’ll have to have you over for dinner sometime, Victoria. Well, best be hitting the dusty trail.” He says, slapping his thighs.

 

“Max, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. I have my cell, but I will be in meetings all week.”

 

You hug him before any of the other students arrive.

 

“And remember that girls still need to practice safe sex.” He whispers.

 

You scream internally as he walks away. You must look like a zombie, because Victoria pokes you in the shoulder and gives you that wrinkled look.

 

“Max?”

 

Sex. Right. The last time you did anything like that was just before you broke up with Chloe. Her hands were firm and her mouth persistent. You weren’t though. You just lay there kissing back until she got exasperated and stopped.

 

Suddenly you feel like you're carrying a stone in your solar plexus.

 

“Earth to Maxine.” Victoria snaps by your face.

 

You elbow her ribs in retaliation. She’s trying to play it cool, but her smile keeps cracking the facade. She looks downright giddy.

 

“This is going to be great, we can go to the original Starbucks and take pictures of the sculptures by the water. I’m pretty sure there are some Fringe acts nearby.” She says.

 

You grab her hand, “Tori, slow down. I’m here for a week. We’re gonna be in class most of the time, but really I’m just glad to be taking pictures with you.”

 

Students fill the room like the slow drip of a garden hose. Leaning against the wall makes you feel cool and also they’re using metal chairs and you have shorts on. A rash would be a great way to acquaint yourself with a new group of people.

 

You can feel Victoria’s gaze on your hands resting a foot apart against the wall. Every time you try to catch her eye, she blushes and looks away. Deciding to take action, you walk your fingers over to her hand.

 

Out of the corner you can see her smile threatening to eclipse her face.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s the Fourth of July and you feel so nervous you might vomit butterflies. You’re wearing a tank top and shorts and Victoria is taking you out and what might definitely be a date.

 

It’s like hanging out, but with this tense expectation. She’s gone from the (barely) respectful distance she gave you when you dated Chloe, to ‘acting like a gentleman’. Not that you’re complaining. You’re single now and it’s nice to be pampered by Victoria.

 

Oh, and then there’s the way it feels when she puts her hand at the small of your back and you lean into her.

 

You meet her at the door and she’s dressed remarkably low key for her. Her sunglasses probably cost as much as your camp though.

 

“Ready to go, Maxine?” She says.

 

She’s half blocking the doorway by leaning and you think that maybe you should kiss her right now. If this is a date, it might be what she’s waiting for.

 

Instead, you push her out the door and close it behind you. It feels like the walls are sweating. The heat here is the thick, wet kind that coats your lungs. Or maybe that’s just her proximity and dark eyes locked on your lips.

 

“Okay, lead on, oh Leader.” You say.

 

Victoria inhales sharply and licks her lips. You grab her hand and swing it. She smiles.

 

The Fourth of July always makes you feel like you should be more patriotic. You should be eating red velvet and apple pie and throwing boxes of tea into the harbour. You should be shooting guns into the sky and fondly remembering the mass murder of the indigenous population.

 

So, instead today’s itinerary includes ice cream, the Great Wheel, taking pictures, and eventually fireworks. Your dad said he’d meet you at Waterfront Park before the fireworks, thus leaving your afternoon tantalizingly adult free.

 

The two of you walk hand in hand through downtown Seattle. Little waves of heat are blurring the road with the air. You try to capture a picture of it, but the photos are probably going to suck.

 

Victoria’s arms wrap around your waist and she rests her chin on your shoulder.

 

“Take a picture of us.” She says.

 

Your heart is hammering in your ears as you do so. You snap three. One serious, one silly, and the third one she startles you with a kiss on the cheek. You almost drop your camera, but she grabs it.

 

“Come on, Max, the line for the wheel is going to be huge.”

 

“I thought we should go at night. You know, get stuck at the top and watch the fireworks…” You trail off.

 

She bites her lip in a smile. You scratch your cheek, trying not to blush too hard.

 

It’s something you’ve wanted to do since you saw that episode of The OC. Not that you’re going to admit to watching The OC. That’s so 2005 and super uncool.

 

“Okay.” She says.

 

“Yeah?”

 

So you get ice cream and take pictures of brick walls and power lines instead.

 

“It’s so cool that you live here. There’s so much to do, unlike Arcadia Bay. And everything’s so close. I need to bike twenty minutes just to buy a slurpee.”

 

“It’s not that great. I live pretty far out of town, anyway. My parents had to have waterfront property and a pool.”

 

You elbow her in the ribs, “Are you seriously fucking complaining about your mansion?”

 

She laughs a short release of air through her nose.

 

“I guess I am. But, a house is just an empty building if there’s no one living in it.”

 

She looks so sad.

 

“I called my mom to ask how her trip was doing and she assumed I had messed up at the studio. Gave me the whole lecture on responsibility and how they expect better from me before I got a chance to say, ‘Hi’.”

 

“Shit, Dude.” You say.

 

It doesn’t feel like enough. You put an arm on her shoulder and watch the goosebumps erupt.

 

“You know I’m always here for when you’re feeling alone.” You say.

 

The edges of her eyes crinkle. She sniffles and darts forward. It’s just a touch of lips, but your eyes flutter closed and you pull her in for another.

 

She tastes like pistachio ice cream. Her tongue is cold and she makes this little moan in the back of her throat that you want her to make again.

 

She puts a hand on your chest to push you away. Sucking her lips, she looks down then back up.

 

“Max, I really like you.”

 

“I like you too.”

 

“Like, a lot. I think about kissing you all the time.”

 

“Then what are you waiting for?”

 

“I just… I don’t get why you like me.”

 

You lean back so that you can properly assess her, taking the time to ogle her as obviously as possible.

 

“Victoria. You’re like my best friend. I can talk to you about cameras and Fullmetal Alchemist without ever feeling like I’m boring you, and you don’t get weird when I get all autistic and stuff. I’m just as surprised that you wanna date me.”

 

“What? Max, have you seen your butt? It’s a work of art.”

 

You giggle and scoot closer to her on the bench, “I go out of my way to tell you all the things I love about your personality, and you wanna date me for my ass?”

 

“It’s a really nice butt. But, I guess your dumb jokes and weird middle of the night texts are a plus.”

 

You’re tugged almost fully into her lap. It’s not the most comfortable position, but just being this close to her is intoxicating. She traces your lower lip with her thumb.

 

“Max, I’m scared I’m going to screw this up.” She whispers.

 

“I’m scared too. Let’s just agree to try our best?” You say.

 

She nods, still worrying her lip, “So, um, can I call you my girlfriend?”

 

You laugh and kiss her cheek.

 

“You better call me your girlfriend, Victoria Chase.”

 

She’s kissing you again, harder this time. It kinda hurts, but in a good way. Your teeth clack and your lips are getting puffy from the force. It’s probably not the best place to make out. You hear a family walking by with small children and you pull yourself out of the kiss. One of the moms gives the two of you a wry smile as she walks by.

 

Well, it is Seattle after all. Still, that could have been bad if it were a bunch of homophobes.

 

You take pictures of each other and the colourful tourist shops. You feel giddy when she wraps her arms around you. The city is your sandbox. She pins you against the brick wall of an alley and it should be romantic, but instead it just smells like garbage. You wrinkle your nose and lead her back towards civilization.

 

A group of teenage boys hoot at you and you stick close to Victoria. She seems amused by the whole thing and gives them the middle finger.

 

“You’re so brave. Those guys scared the shit out of me.” You say.

 

She shrugs, “You’re way braver than me, Max. You stick up for what matters, I just know how to corral dicks.”

 

“Ew, that sounds like some kind of porn.”

 

“Dick Corral 5. The Dickening.”

  
  


You do end up on the Great Wheel for the fireworks, because Victoria greased a lot of palms. You feel kinda guilty about being so high maintenance, but she assures you it’s a drop in a barrel. Totally worth being able to watch the fireworks from high up.

 

“Thank you for this amazing date.” You say.

 

She kisses behind your ear, “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

You’re twenty days away from being fifteen years old. You’re probably more nervous about your first day of Sophomore year than you were about being a Freshman. There’s expectations now.

 

Oh, and you’re not sure if you should avoid Chloe or seek her out. You and Victoria haven’t been quiet about your relationship, but you don’t want to wave it in her face.

 

That’s a lie, you don’t want to prove her right. She’ll get all smug and pissed off. It’ll justify her dumping you. An emotional wound that is still very fresh after five months of radio silence.

 

She’s probably really hurt too, but putting on a brave face.

 

Your first class is photography, though Mark Jefferson still isn’t the teacher. It’s Mrs. Fink, same as last year. You and Victoria sit together at the back, chairs almost flush with each other.

 

The first assignment is a simple teamwork exercise. Partner up and take pictures of each other.

 

“Maybe we should find other partners and that way we can surprise each other with our work.” You say.

 

Victoria looks very serious, they way she does when she’s not being very serious.

 

“Are you saying we should try seeing other people?” She says.

 

You nod, eyes down. She wipes away crocodile tears, turns her nose up, and struts over to Taylor’s desk. You chuckle and make a beeline for the only other person without a partner. A new girl with fluffy brown hair wearing a cross.

 

Something about her reminds you of a frightened rabbit (no, not the band that Victoria says sounds like keening in harmony) so you approach her like one.

 

“Hi,” You say in a low and gentle voice, “I’m Max Caulfield.”

 

She smiles (wow she has pretty green eyes), “Pleasure to meet you, I’m Kate Marsh.”

 

Something catches your eye in the courtyard. You look over her shoulder.

 

AP Science are launching bottle rockets and whooping as they run from rogue splashes of soda. Chloe bats one of them into Warren, knocking him flat on his ass. She’s laughing and Ms. Grant is trying to keep from doing the same while reprimanding her.

 

She looks taller. Wiry arms bunch and stretch as she lifts Warren up. It’s still tank top weather and you can see how thick her wrists and biceps are. She must’ve gotten a job helping William with construction over the summer.

 

It has to be friend telepathy that has her shading her eyes and looking up to see you staring at her like a creep. For the first time in five months your eyes meet.

 

You raise a hand to wave. She looks away.

 

It hits you like a punch to the gut.

 

But, it’s Chloe, so she swears, looks up, and gives you a jerky wave.

 

You smile.

 

“Friend of yours?” Kate says.

 

“Sorry, that was rude. Yeah, Chloe. We haven’t seen each other since before summer started.”

 

She nods and hums, keeping any curious comments to herself. The air between you two is a little dead and awkward.

 

“Do you wanna pose first or take pictures first?” You say.

 

“I’ll take the pictures.”

 

You turn around and see Victoria posing on Taylor’s desk. You muffle a snort, she’s such a ham.

 

 


	3. Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, to be fifteen and in love.
> 
> Please read the beginning notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains completely consensual sex between two minors. There is barely any description and it's more emotional than physical. It also has a very brief mention of statutory rape. It is, in my opinion, an establishing character moment. I have bolded this sequence for anyone who might be bothered by it.
> 
> This is the smallest installment, not a lot happens, but we get a few big milestones.

 

You are fifteen years old today. Of course, it’s the weekend and raining harder than it has all year. You wake up groggily to about twenty Facebook updates and at least ten texts from Victoria.

 

There’s the usual ‘Good morning :)’ text followed by ‘Happy Birthday’, ‘Congrats on being a year sexier’, then just a bunch of emojis, and finally a kissy selfie.

 

You fire back your response, calling her the biggest nerd. It takes five tries before you can take a morning selfie that doesn’t look like garbage to send back to her.

 

Your socks slip on the stairs with each step. You’re living dangerously in this fight with gravity. You do almost fall when you spot the figure at the bottom of the stairs.

 

“Chloe!” You say too loudly.

 

You wince at yourself.

 

She scratches the back of her neck.

 

“Happy Birthday, Max.”

 

She has a haphazardly wrapped box between her hands. You throw caution to the wind and hit her with an almost violent hug.

 

It takes the wind out of her and she stumbles back.

 

“Easy, your birthday present is fragile.”

 

You take it, unsure of whether or not to open it now, she nods at you. She follows you into the kitchen where your parents are pretending not to be watching your interaction.

 

Gently, you put the box onto the table before unwrapping it.

 

“How’ve you been, Chloe?”

 

“Good. Worked as a grunt on one of Dad’s sites over the summer. Now, I’m hella jacked.”

 

“You do look ‘hella’ jacked.” Mom says.

 

“Thank you.” Chloe flexes.

 

It’s William’s old polaroid camera and some film. You’re tearing up a little.

 

“Thanks, Chloe. Wow, this amazing.”

 

She folds her arms behind her head, “Yeah, well, it’s not monogrammed or anything, but I remember you loved playing with it when we were kids.”

 

Your dad snorts loudly, “‘Were’.” He shakes his head.

 

Chloe leads you out to the porch where you sit next to her on the hammock. She pushes off with one foot and watches the rain.

 

You follow her lead, not bothering with speaking. Fat splashes scatter mud and dust on the path. It wets the grass making it slick and bright. Already the potholes in the road are filling with dirty brown water.

 

“I was an asshole, and I’m sorry.” Chloe says.

 

“You’re right.” You say.

 

She elbows you. You try to wiggle away, but the combined weight rolls both of you towards the middle. Damp twine is making a web pattern against your ass.

 

“No, I mean, you were right.”

 

Chloe’s teeth are bared. You can’t tell the expression, it’s neutral if anything.

 

“I messed up and I fell in love with someone else. It wasn’t fair to you at all. So, I’m sorry I was an asshole too.”

 

Chloe pushes her hair back and rolls her lips. Clearly, she’s not happy being right about that.

 

“So, the rumours are true?” She says.

 

A pink shape is visible on the road and you can’t help the smile creeping up on your face. A pair of ducks go irritably quacking from your neighbour’s lawn, chased by their mean cat.

 

“Yeah, we’re together.”

 

Chloe sniffs and rubs her nose.

 

“Does she make you happy?”

 

You look at her. She’ll look anywhere but you.

 

“You both make me happy.” You say.

 

“That’s not what I asked.”

 

“It’s my birthday and I’ll straddle the fence if I want to.”

 

The pink shape is a lot closer now and you can’t fucking believe she went out with such a dorky umbrella. Now the cat’s out of the bag. Your girlfriend owns a pink lolita parasol that is probably getting ruined by the rain. You stand and slip on your mom’s crocks.

 

Her face is this fixed expression of resigned disgust and you can’t help but laugh. You run through wet grass and puddles to greet her.

 

“You came all the way out here in the rain to see me?” You say.

 

Victoria tugs you under her umbrella. You link arms. She catches sight of Chloe on the porch and you can feel the temperature beneath the umbrella lower.

 

“What’s she doing here?”

 

“Giving me a birthday present.”

 

You watch her jaw work. The grip on your arm is suddenly painful.

 

“Ow, Tori, what the hell?”

 

You’re ten feet from the porch when she twists to kiss you lewdly. You bite her lower lip in retaliation. These jealous games between her and Chloe are starting to piss you off.

 

“I guess I had that coming.” Chloe says.

 

 

* * *

 

 

You’re fifteen years old and making out with your girlfriend. Victoria’s hands are so big and warm on your thighs, making trails up your stomach, pushing your T-shirt up. Then you’re lying together with skin on skin and her thumb playing with the button on your jeans.

 

“Do you wanna, you know, go all the way?” She says.

 

You’ve been waiting. For what, exactly? You’re not sure. You weren’t ready when you slept with Chloe the first time and it was nice, but you don’t want to rush in again.

 

Victoria’s been really patient, but you can tell it bothers her. You’ve been reading tutorials online and watching some videos. You just wanna be good to her, like she has been good to you. You wanna make it special.

 

As it is, you’ve barely gone under the bra when you’re together. Not that you don’t like Victoria’s boobs. You definitely like her boobs.

 

Your phone buzzes. It’s probably Mom asking when you’ll be home.

 

“I’m just…” You sigh and slap the duvet.

 

She rests a hand on your back, “Max, look at me.”

 

“I want our first time to be special, and I feel like I should be better at this because you’ve never slept with a girl before… and I gotta protect the hype.”

 

She snorts and shoves you so you’re almost toppling off the bed.

 

“Three months of mumbled excuses and that’s what you’re worried about?! Protecting the honour of lesbian sex?” She laughs.

 

“Stop making fun of me!” But you’re laughing too.

 

She’s on her back with puffy lips and dark eyes, still chuckling in her bra and skirt. It dawns on you that there’s nothing stopping you from devouring her right here and now. (Except, maybe a text from your mom.)

 

“Shut up.” You say.

 

She startles at the sudden change in attitude. The air between you crackles. She leans back on her haunches and raises her chin.

 

“Make me.” She says.

 

You’re straddling her waist and pinning her arms above her head.

 

“Shut. Up.” You say into her ear.

 

“Max.” She whimpers.

 

**And it’s good. You don’t know where to put your limbs and she knees you in the face when you’re between her legs. This thing she does with her tongue has you cross-eyed and making this weird goat noise. She laughs so hard you end up taking a three minute break because she can’t do anything but giggle. You’re pretty sure that you’re loud enough for Kate to hear you next door and you don’t really care.**

**Afterwards, it’s too hot and you’re stuck together like a piece of candy to a hot car seat.**

**“Okay, Baby, I love you, but I need to separate before I melt.” Victoria says.**

**“Oh, thank god.” You say.**

**She laughs and hands you the bottle of water she’s been chugging. You run your hand through her wet hair.**

**“Did you learn all of that online?” She says.**

**“A magician never tells her secrets.” You say.**

**She looks at you with raised eyebrows, “Good thing you’re as magic as a squib then.”**

**“Obscure Potter reference. Solid. I learned a little of it online, the rest comes from the Price School of Cunnilingus.”**

**She makes a disgusted face, “Ugh, that killed the mood.”**

**You roll onto your side to look at her. It’s hard to tell if she’s kidding or not. You stroke her cheek and she leans into it.**

**“Does it really bother you?” You say.**

**“Hmn?”**

**“That you’re not my first?”**

**She blows out a breath, “No, not really. I mean, you’re not my first, and I’m not that big of a hypocrite.”**

**Her self-deprecating tone makes you frown and edge closer.**

**“What was your first time like, if you don’t mind telling me?” You say.**

**She covers her eyes with a wrist and takes a deep breath, something she does when she’s embarrassed.**

**“His name was Josh. He was the son of one of my parents’ friends,” Her voice cracks, “He said I was a talented photographer.”**

**“How old was he?” Falls out of your mouth before you can stop it.**

**She blows out a breath and doesn’t answer and suddenly you feel like hitting something.**

**“I said yes.” She says.**

**You open your mouth to say ‘that’s not how it works’ but--**

Your phone buzzes and starts ringing. You swear and check the time. The last bus is going to leave school in 20 minutes.

 

“Hey, Mom, I got carried away during a shoot. Yeah, she’s here. We were testing out some old pinhole cameras. You know how time flies.”

 

You look at Victoria, you hope your mother is buying it. She sounds amused. She’s probably not buying it.

 

“Hang on, let me ask her, ‘Mom wants to know if you want to come over for dinner.” You say.

 

She folds her lips like she’s trying not to make a lewd comment about eating. You roll your eyes at her and she nods.

 

“Yeah, she’s gonna come over. 'Kay, we can take the bus. Really? Because we can totally take the bus.”

 

You hang up.

 

“Dad’s coming to pick us up.” You say.

 

Victoria sits up and you’re momentarily distracted by watching a bead of sweat roll down her collarbone.

 

“We should shower.” She says.

 

For a moment you’re mortified at the thought of getting into your dad’s car reeking of sex. You were almost panicked enough to take the bus like this.

 

You try to be nonchalant about showering together. Taylor’s in there when you walk in. She’s brushing her teeth, stinks like a skunk, and is squinting at you through red rimmed eyes.

 

“Are you two going to be slick lizbeans in here?” She says, then starts laughing.

 

You sputter, Victoria shrugs, “We’re here to clean off. I can’t say there won’t be a little naked rub and tickle though.”

 

Taylor leaves. Being wet and naked together would be more fun if you weren’t hurrying to get cleaned up and innocently dry looking before your dad shows up.

 

When he does, the two of you are dressed and waiting in the parking lot with mostly dry hair.

 

“How does yours look so much drier than mine?” You say.

 

“Short hair dries faster, Max.”

 

She piles into the back seat with her legs bent so that they’re shoved into your spine. She looks kind of like a squished spider. All long limbs curled up. You roll your seat forward to give her room.

 

“How was taking photos, girls?” Dad says.

 

“Good, Sir. Pinhole cameras often get dismissed as being elementary due to being the first camera of a lot of photographers, but you can get really interesting and expressive black and whites. Honestly, I think they’ll be coming back in style soon.”

 

Your girlfriend, the master of bullshitting.

 

“Is that so?” Your dad says, “Well, I look forward to seeing those pictures.”

 

You hope you aren’t visibly sweating. Oh well, note to self, take pinhole camera pictures together and pretend they’re from today.

 

Victoria always charms your mother when she comes over for dinner. Manners make the woman and you swear your mom has a little bit of a crush.

 

After dinner you’re curled up in the hammock together watching the stars through gaps in the slats above you.

 

“Do you think you’d still love me if we met in a different life?” You lean back to look at her.

 

She’s spooning you, trapped between your body and the netting of the hammock. Her arms around your waist are like a warm seat belt.

 

“Why are you so fucking weird?”

 

“Answer the question. Life or death round.”

 

“Well, obviously. Clearly, I have some kind of depraved fetish for freckled halflings.” She kisses behind your ear.

 

“Hey, keep that between you and your internet service provider.” You laugh.

 

To complete this Nicholas Sparks novel of an evening, Victoria grabs you and points above. You catch the tail end of a shooting star.

 

“Holy shit, it’s the Leonids. I can’t believe I forgot they were tonight.” Victoria says.

 

“Gonna text Warren so you all can breathe heavily about stars?”

 

She tickles your ribs and you squeal, twisting against her and rocking the hammock. Your mom opens a window upstairs and you can hear her fond laughter.

 

“I don’t need to look at stars, I have my own personal constellation here.”

 

She tugs your shirt up to reveal the leftover freckles from the summer. Her hand splayed on a bunch of them. You settle against her, heart thumping.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to make a wish on shooting stars?” You say.

 

“Mmhm, already did.”

 

“Tell me!”

 

“Then it won’t come true.”

 

It won’t come true anyway. And, in hindsight, that’s what really pisses you off.


	4. Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the parents & a very crucial plot point. Don't touch that dial, we're just getting started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Points at Max* On the Autism Spectrum!  
> *Points at Victoria* Mixed ethnicity!
> 
> *Does a sick Ollie away from the haters*

 

You are sixteen years old the first time you meet Victoria’s parents. You’re staying for two weeks of art and music shows, including a gallery featuring a few pictures you’ve taken.

 

Which you’re excited about in part because of the recognition and also because they’re showcasing your favourite model (Victoria, it’s Victoria.).

 

It’s a victory you can share.

 

Or, at least that’s the pep talk you’ve given yourself as you're brought into the Chase Manor. Wow, you weren’t sure what you were expecting. Maybe chandeliers and butlers. Instead it’s just a really big empty house.

 

And, judging by the look on Victoria’s face, this is going to be a long night.

 

A skinny little boy comes charging up to you. Against the drab modern interior, he’s a wonderful splash of colour.

 

“Hi!” He says.

 

You bend at the waist to be at eye level.

 

“Hi, I’m Max, what’s your name?”

 

“Thomas!” He only has one volume apparently.

 

“Hi, Thomas.”

 

Victoria is fiddling with her ring. Your uneasy heels clack against the wood floor as you approach her. She’s in a tux that matches your dress, despite you both hating the ‘butch-femme’ rule. This dinner is a battleground, so you have your armor and she has hers.

 

Plus the height advantage these heels allow is appealing. For once you can look her in the eye without craning your neck. You adjust her bowtie as an excuse to be near her. Her hands find the dimples on your back. The proximity does its job. You watch some of the tension drain out of her spine.

 

“Hey, it’s gonna be fine.” You say.

 

You drop a kiss on the very tips of her lips. When you pull back you see that you’ve left a bow-shaped paler pink stain on her wine coloured lips. You try to rub it off, but only succeed in getting your thumb trapped in her mouth.

 

“Don’t jinx it.” She says with a bite.

 

“Just think about how they’ll be leaving in two days and then the house will be all ours to do with as we please.”

 

Victoria shivers at the suggestion. For emphasis you grab one of her earrings with your teeth. She moans.

 

“Are we all ready to leave?”

 

You move to a respectful distance. Noelle Chase, a lithe woman who passed down her eyes and cheekbones to her daughter moves to the two of you in three strides. Thomas stiffens by proxy.

 

You had this mistaken image in your head of Victoria’s parents. Mother, a bottle blonde with a drinking problem and plastic smile. Father, a man with golf course reddened skin and brushy grey hair, probably the kind to bang his secretary. You know, WASP stereotypes.

 

Instead, they’re tall, dark and judgemental. Roger is bespeckled and has a more than passing semblance to Tim Curry. He’s the business brain of the two. Noelle has long fingers she tents in front of herself and an accent Victoria tells you is Vietnamese-French. She’s the artistic visionary.

 

Seeing them standing with bright and curly haired Thomas and resigned Victoria to the side is like being given all the pieces to a puzzle.

 

The ride to dinner is in a Lamborghini that’s silent except for the NPR on the radio. Victoria’s staring at the window, her jaw a hard line. You keep running a thumb over her knuckles to ground her and remind her that you’re here.

 

She doesn’t need to feel lonely.

 

You try not to think about how expensive this restaurant is as you sit down (on the chair your girlfriend pulled out for you.). The two of you sit together opposite her parents. Instinctively, you put your hand on hers and squeeze.

 

“So, Maxine. We’ve heard so much about you from Colin’s glowing review of your work.”

 

Holy shit, this dinner is going to be hard to get through.

 

“Really? You’ve heard nothing about me from Victoria?” You say.

 

You’re smiling, but you feel more like an animal baring its teeth at a threat.

 

Noelle sips her water, dark eyes briefly darting to her eldest with a look of mild interest.

 

“Unfortunately, Colin said that Victoria’s work continues to lack je ne sais quoi. I’m glad such a talented young artist could find a muse in our daughter.”

 

“I think Victoria’s a great photographer.” You say.

 

Her brows raise, “Yes, well, we did give her the best training we could. Still, an artist’s soul is something you’re born with, not taught.”

 

For the first time since you met, Roger speaks, “We’ve been encouraging her to go towards business. Logical brains thrive with numbers.”

 

You glance at Victoria. ‘Logical’ just reminds you of that time you argued for like an hour over whether Nimoy or Quinto was the hotter Spock. Yeah, business suit Victoria is like… sploosh, but she’s happiest when she’s peacocking, a stylish artist with a camera in her hand.

 

Thomas drops the piece of bread he’s been eating-slash-playing-with and starts to cry. You can feel everyone in the restaurant around you tense. Noelle and Roger don’t move.

 

“Thomas, it’s no use crying, you’re upsetting everyone else now.” Roger says.

 

He cries harder. This is hell. You are in hell. Victoria slides her hand out from under yours and stands. She picks up her brother in a hug and carries him outside.

 

You blow out a breath and lean back against your seat.

 

“He’ll never learn to self soothe if she keeps babying him like that.” Noelle says.

 

“Excuse me.” You leave to go to the bathroom, but follow Victoria and Thomas outside.

 

Thomas has stopped crying. In fact, the tracks on his face are dry. Victoria has her hands in her hair as they sit on the steps.

 

“Are you okay?” You say.

 

“Yeah, Little T has my back.”

 

Her mascara’s running. You lift her chin up gently and swipe your thumbs over the grey stains until nothing's left but smooth skin. She kisses you.

 

“Will you still love me if I hit your parents with a chair?” You say.

 

“Yeah!” Thomas says.

 

“I’ll probably get down on one knee if you do.” Victoria says.

 

You return to the table in time for the appetizers. Noelle has already drained a glass of wine and is having it refilled, so at least you got the alcohol abuse prediction right.

 

“Dear, you do have the right figure for suits, you should wear them more. Maxine, do you take lots of photos of her in suits?”

 

Roger’s face is bottom lit by the light of his cellphone.

 

“I take pictures of Victoria in anything.” You say.

 

“She would make a great model. It’s that exotic mixed race look so many magazines are looking for now. Plus, she inherited such beautiful bone structure from my side of the family. Those cheekbones are her grandmother’s.”

 

Noelle pauses to take a big gulp of wine.

 

“She’s always been a pretty girl. So many young boys in her class would ask her to be their Valentine or girlfriend or whatever. Naturally, we were surprised to hear that her first partner is a girl. Not offended, of course.”

 

“Can you stop talking about her like she’s not here?” You say.

 

Victoria bristles, “I can defend myself, Max.”

 

“You haven’t said a word in your own defense all night, Victoria. I’m just supposed to sit here and watch as they emotionally torture you and Thomas?”

 

Realising your hypocrisy, you turn to Roger and Noelle, “Do you hug your children? Do you actually sit and listen to them when they talk or are they just things that you decorate your house with? Your daughter is the most passionate photographer I’ve ever met, and you spend all this time tearing her down and then building her back up with empty praise about her looks.”

 

You’re so upset you can’t properly articulate the end of a rant. You haven’t been this overstimulated since you were in kindergarten. All the sights and sounds too much. Too much. The coats in the coat room felt too rough against your skin. You screamed yourself hoarse. You’re older now and control it better.

 

And, you’ve just ruined the evening by tearing your girlfriend’s parents new assholes. Great job, dumbass. Now you’re clicking your sinuses frantically trying to calm down.

 

Victoria turns your chair and puts her hands over your ears.

 

“Max, take a few deep breaths.”

 

You breathe in and out with her until the need for clicking stops.

 

Turning back to face the music, you see that Noelle is smiling at you over the rim of her glass and Roger has put away his phone.

 

“Firecracker, this one. Ah, a true artistic spirit. Reminds me of a younger version of myself.”

 

You can’t even.

  
  


Victoria thanks you later, lying in her bedroom. She presses butterfly kisses to your jaw and begs you to be hers forever.

 

“Always.” You say.

 

Because you’re sixteen and forever seems like such an easy promise.

 

 

* * *

 

 

You are sixteen years old and crying your eyes out in the waiting room of Blackwell General Hospital.

 

Chloe and William were in an accident.

 

It could have been worse. So much worse if they weren’t in a big steel truck at the time. The car that T-boned them looked like a crushed can in comparison. At least that’s what your dad told you.

 

God, they could have died.

 

Victoria has a Vortex Club meeting tonight and her phone’s off because she’s supposed to set an example of professionalism and you’re trying not to freak out, but at this point she’s your safety blanket.

 

Mom and Dad left to get a bag of burgers and a change of clothes for Joyce. Right now it’s just the two of you. She keeps twisting her wedding ring, her mouth is a thin line. When she catches you glancing her way, she tries a smile.

 

The floors were once reflective tile, but years of cleaning with no wax has dimmed the shine covered in spots and rubber marks. The lighting makes everyone look pale and drawn, sick or not. You rub circles into your temples to try and fight off a tension headache that the fluorescents do not help at all.

 

When they hauled them out, William was screaming because Chloe hit her head and wasn’t responding. He didn’t seem to notice his own crushed leg.

 

Now he’s in surgery and she’s plugged into a bunch of machines to monitor her breathing and stuff. Her neck is strained and her brain is swollen. At the lightest it’s a bad concussion. You’ll know the extent of the brain damage when (if) she wakes up.

 

There’s the quick plodding of expensive boots on tile and you look up to see Victoria clutching her phone in one hand, set of keys in the other.

 

“Joyce, how are you doing?” She says.

 

Joyce puts on a brave face, “Honestly, Victoria, a little tired of watching sports news.”

 

She laughs breathlessly. You reach out a little desperately for her hand. She snatches your fingers and begins massaging your palm. You can breathe again.

 

“Do you need anything, a coffee?” Victoria asks.

 

Because your girlfriend is nothing but polite and appropriate (minus when you’re alone. Then she’ll call you ‘buttmunch’ while sticking googly eyes to your boobs.)

 

“Honey, thank you, but coffee is the last thing I need right now. I think your girl needs you right now.”

 

Victoria looks at your joined hands. You’re looking up at her from beneath your eyelashes. It drives her crazy when you do that. Not that you’re trying to bang your girlfriend in a hospital waiting room while your best friend breathes through a tube.

 

Well, you’re not really trying to seduce her. Really, you just want the comfort of being as close as physically possible. She does the same thing after every rejection letter and phone call from her parents. Sometimes you stop her. She needs to know that you can comfort her without needing sexual gratification as a reward. You keep telling her, but it never really sinks in.

 

Your parents return to interrupt your inappropriate train of thought. You really should be thinking of Chloe and William right now. Your family is in the ER and you’re thinking about sex. What is wrong with you?

 

Victoria stands in front of you to stay out of their way. Your mom stops to hug her.

 

“Hey, thanks for coming as soon as you could.”

 

“I wish I could’ve been here sooner. How are you doing, Emma?”

 

She gives Victoria a watery smile and squeezes her hand.

 

“We all need to be here for William, Joyce and Chloe.”

 

If this were a TV show or movie or something with a time constraint, the nurse would show up right away to give you news. But, real life is long and boring. You wait for another three hours, curled up in Victoria’s lap, until news comes.

 

“William’s going to be okay. There might be some permanent tissue damage to the leg, but your insurance does cover the injury.”

 

Joyce breathes out in relief.

 

“Chloe, on the other hand… well, we’ll know when she wakes up. The swelling’s gone down and we are out of the proverbial woods. Head wounds are difficult though. She might be disoriented when she wakes up. She’ll forget words and events. You just need to be patient with her.”

 

Everything’s going to be okay. Joyce’s face crumples and she begins to sob into her hands. You mother is comforting her in an instant.

 

“There, there, Hon, let it all out. It’s going to be okay now.”

 

\--

 

Chloe wakes up within a day. Her eyes are glossy and unfocused, and her face looks worse than that time she went down a hill in a shopping cart and flipped it. The tubes have been taken out of her nose, but she’s gonna need to stay in the hospital for another day just to make sure she’s okay. The doctors say she’ll suffer from some memory loss and aphasia.

 

“Aphasia? You mean like Max has?” Chloe says.

 

“That’s Aspergers, Chloe.” Joyce says.

 

She starts giggling and you can’t really blame her. She giggled about the name when she first heard it at age nine too.

 

“Yeah, buddy, you’re gonna have a hard time remembering the names of thing and I have a hard time remembering what qualifies as appropriate behaviour.”

 

Chloe blinks up at you. She motions with the arm not currently in a sling for a hug. She stage whispers, taking sneaky glances at her mom.

 

“Max, I think I have a hard time being appropriate too, cause all I wanna do is steal a wheelchair and race you down the hall.”

 

“Chloe, that’s just poor impulse control.” Joyce says.

 

“That too.”

 

William wheels in, “Did someone say race?”

 

Joyce rubs her temples, but you can tell she wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Thomas. The backstory behind him is that Victoria was an only child for 12 years. Her parents paid nannies to take care of her and were more interested in their work than raising a child.
> 
> So, she expected them to do the same when they had Thomas. They didn't. Naturally, she assumes the problem is with her, adding to her feelings of inadequacy. That she's unworthy of love or attention unless she's doing something for it.
> 
> Noelle is kind of this amalgamation of a whole bunch of terrible mom stories, and a bitterness inside me. The way women get treated as props, particularly in comparison to a male relative, like a brother or cousin. (I initially minced words, and cited my own mother issues as inspiration, but my mum's always been very supportive of me and that's not very fair. I based Max's parents off my own parents.) Vic's dad is just as awful, he's just the emotionally and verbally distant type of awful.


	5. Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, Courtney, no one fucking likes ham and pineapple that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's sex in this chapter. They're seventeen. I've bolded it if that bothers you.

You’re seventeen years old and noodling with your guitar on the porch of the Prescott Palace. Victoria’s having a Vortex Club meeting, and while she roped you into being a member, you don’t really engage with any of the organizational stuff. You’re not entirely even sure what the Vortex does other than throw parties.

Okay, not true, Victoria works her ass off as the chair (lel). Every first Sunday of the month she takes a group out to the beach to clean up garbage. Apparently, there’s like, a garbage island the size of Texas in the Pacific Ocean. You told her that finally there’s a kingdom for her. She put you in a chokehold and told you that the two of you could have the first queendom.

The Prescott family are fucking weird and have too much money and you think the two facts are probably related. Nathan’s a twitchy kid who was given Adderall instead of attention as a kid and lacks any kind of boundaries. Still, he’s a skilled photographer and there are moments when he even acts kind of nice.

There’s a squirrel sniffing around the branches of a tree. Inside you hear a loud pop and raised voices.

It’s so peaceful out here, you almost feel like your playing is disturbing the calm.

“Can you play anything by The Eagles?”

You look up. It’s a man with greying hair and eyes devoid of human kindness. This must be Nathan’s dad. You pause in your noodling.

“How could I call myself a broke musician if I didn’t know how to play Hotel California?” You reply.

He laughs and holds out a meaty hand, “Sean Prescott. I haven’t seen you over here before.”

He’s left handed, so you shift accordingly to match.

“I’m Max Caulfield, and these meetings usually interfere with swim meets, but this week we have off. Coach went on a leadership retreat.”

His grip feels too strong and the heat runs up your joined hands to your shoulder. Sean lets go, but your fingers are still tingling.

The glass door slides open and Victoria pokes her head out.

“Max, we’re ordering pizza and Courtney is insisting that we need a full sized Hawaiian, come and back me up.”

You widen your eyes at the suggestion, “A whole damn Hawaiian? Nobody likes ham and pineapple that much.”

You give Sean a little wave,

“It was nice meeting you Mr. Prescott.”

“Nice meeting you too, Max.”

The sliding door gets left open. You use your free hand to smack Victoria’s butt. She yelps and retaliates with a nipple pinch. You’re giggling and rough housing when your guitar knocks over an expensive vase and shatters it against the hardwood.

“No!”

You stretch out your left hand too late, but the colours around you seem to blur to blues and reds, blacks and whites speed past you.

You’re sixteen years old and noodling with your guitar on the porch of the Prescott Palace. Victoria’s having a Vortex Club meeting, and while she roped you into being a member, you don’t really engage with any of the organizational stuff. You’re not entirely even sure what the Vortex does other than throw parties.

Wait.

What the fuck?

You were just rough housing with Victoria and your guitar knocked over a vase. Was that a waking dream? Deja vu?

That squirrel is going nuts again. Something pops inside. Holy shit. Okay. Just to fuck with destiny, you start playing Hotel California.

You hear footsteps coming up the wooden stairs.

“Hey, is that Hotel California I hear?” Sean Prescott says.

He has the same weird smile as Nathan. It would be serene if it weren’t so eerie.

“Yup. You must be Nathan’s dad, I’m Max.”

He shakes your hand, and this time you don’t notice any tingling. Weird.

“Pleasure to meet you, Max. Sean Prescott. Are you here for the Vortex Club meeting? I haven’t seen you around.”

“Otters have the day off, so I get to come out and support my honey.”

The door slides open and this confirms the whole time travel thing. You should be freaking out more than you are, but Sean Prescott is the last person you want to melt down around.

“Speak of the devil and she shall appear.” You say, smiling at Victoria.

Her eyebrows furrow and her eyes dart between you and Sean. Come on, Tori, be cool.

“The horns hold up the halo.” She says, making horns with her fingers for emphasis.

“Sounds pretty heated in there, need some help?” You say.

“Courtney thinks we need a whole Hawaiian pizza and Juliet is this close to throwing down over it.”

“Sounds serious.” Sean says.

You smile at him and wave a little as you follow Victoria inside. With your free hand, you grab her wrist and drag her upstairs to the huge bathroom instead of downstairs to the lounge.

You lock the door behind you and set your guitar down. When you turn around Victoria has her shirt off and huge smile.

“What are you doing?”

“Having a quickie in Nathan’s bathroom?” She narrows her eyes because ‘duh’.

“I brought you up here to talk about something serious.”

“Are you dumping me?”

“What? Never. I’m a little concerned about your thought process here. Like, not having a quickie with you in the bathroom this second doesn’t automatically mean I’m dumping you.”

A socked foot drags up your pant leg from the hem to the zipper, lighting a fire in your belly. You blow out a breath and look anywhere but your topless girlfriend.

“Victoria. Seriously. I need you to listen to what I’m saying and be open minded.”

“You’re pansexual?”

“I-No? God damn it let me finish.” You growl a little at the end.

She folds her arms over her exposed torso and looks like she’s actually listening this time.

“I just reversed time.”

She blinks at you.

“Max. Did Nathan offer you a pot cookie again?”

“No, I, well, I did eat some of the Oreos downstairs and they were the sprinkle kind, so it was like a religious experience…  Ugh, no, it felt nothing like a body high. It was like rewinding a VHS but leaving the TV on.”

Victoria frowns and walks over to you. She looks into your eyes and tilts your chin toward the light. Her hands feel warm as they make a smooth trail up to your forehead. She’s got that wrinkle between her eyes and pursed lips.

“You don’t feel warm and your pupils are normal. Are you sure it wasn’t really bad deja vu?”

You sigh and drop your chin onto her shoulder. You move the skin there as you speak.

“I honestly have no idea. All I know is that we were play fighting in the hallway and I broke a vase and then reversed time so that it never happened.”

She bursts out laughing.

“You’re making fun of me.” You pout.

“Baby, it’s just that in movies and games it’s like a huge catalyst that causes time travel powers, not a broken vase. A broken vase is how you end up indebted to a host club in a harem anime.”

You squeeze her hips and bite where her shoulder meets her neck.

“I don’t know... I already have this tall, annoying, half French, rich asshole trying to hop on my dick all the time.”

She makes a noise between a laugh and a gasp.

“We’ve cracked the code. I’m your Tamaki-Senpai. Haruhiiiiii-chaan! Here comes Daddy!”

Looking at your reflection you take to moment to appreciate how much you’ve grown together. Her eyes are dark and intelligent, but friendlier than when you met. You’ve filled out, less spindly and awkward. There’s a determination you share, and a sense of security you feel when she’s around. Like, no matter what happens, you know Victoria will always have your back.

“What’re you looking at?” She meets your eye in the reflection.

“Just this total groupie who saw me with a guitar in my hand and threw herself at me the first chance she got.” You grin against her neck.

“You caught me, musicians make my panties go flying off.”

**For emphasis, she drops trou. You slip a hand between her legs and continue kissing her neck.**

**“Someone is very excited.” You say.**

**“Max, please.”**

**You take her fast and hard against the sink with her face pressed against the mirror, your fingers hammering a hard pulse inside of her. She’s sobbing and begging you to keep going even harder. Downstairs you can hear the muffled voices of curious Vortex Club members looking for you.**

**“If you don’t want them to know, you’ll keep quiet.” You breathe against her ear.**

**She cries out as she comes. The talking downstairs pauses. Then you hear laughter.**

**You hold her and press kisses up her spine as her breathing calms down. Between kisses you say,**

**“I love you so fucking much.”**

**As soon as she can move her legs, she turns around and holds you. You like this. The feeling of her arms around you. It’s safe and warm. Together, you’re invincible.**

**“I’ll do you.” She says.**

**You kiss her bare shoulder, “Just watching you lose control like that was good enough for me.”**

She huffs into a pout.

“When we get back to my dorm you’re going to be in big trouble.”

“I hope so. I also hope we can revisit the whole time travel topic.”

She makes a noncommittal noise. You wash her scent off your fingers while she redresses. Descending the stairs together your hear footsteps, a stumble, and then the shattering of pottery. Without looking you know it’s that vase.

When you look at Victoria, she’s very pale.

“Max, start from the beginning.”

* * *

You are seventeen and experimenting with time travel in surprisingly inane ways. It’s good for reducing the amount of awkward conversations you have, avoiding people, and making your friends think you can teleport.

Today, you’re at the junkyard with Chloe and Victoria. Unlike being fourteen, these hang outs aren’t uncomfortably tense. Chloe lines up some glass bottles while sipping a beer.

“This feels like an opening to an afterschool special on bad ideas.” Victoria says.

She’s got all of her limbs tucked in close to her body, as if she’s worried just brushing against an old car will make her catch hepatitis (or worse, poverty). Since Chloe’s around she’s putting on a brave face and failing.

“God, Victoria, quit being such a fucking baby.”

That makes her posture stiffen. Great. With both of them in competitive mode this will be dangerous and annoying.

Chloe pulls a bb gun out of her backpack. Well, thank god you’re not going to be using live ammunition for this little adventure.

“Max, we are going to break all of these bottles without wasting a single bullet. Pellet. Whatever.”

“Can’t we do something else?” You say.

“It does feel like a waste to use some potentially universe changing gift to… fuck around with bottles.”

“Do you two pussies have any suggestions then? Or are you just gonna stand there and complain?”

“Pussies is kind of a slur. Or closer to a compliment I like vaginas. I mean, you both know that because I have touched every vagina in this vicinity.”

Chloe clutches her head, “Oh my godddd.”

Pause.

“Victoria, get your hand away from my cooch.” Chloe slaps her slowly approaching hand.

“I was just joking.” She huffs.

Sure, that’s what makes Victoria competitive. You’re surprised Chloe didn’t let her. Groin grabbing is a hobby of Chloe’s. At least, that’s what you learned at metal shows.

Chloe throws her hands up.

“Okay, any other suggestions about what we should do for Max’s time… that other word powers?”

You grab one of your arms, “Well, one thing I’d do is go back in time and play music from the future so there’d be all these wicked old timey versions of modern songs.”

“Points for fun anachronisms, Max.” Chloe says.

Victoria folds her arms, thinking.

“Whatcha thinkin’, Abe Lincoln?” You say.

“I’m trying to imagine Gregorian Monks chanting Super Bass.”

Chloe puts the bb gun down, realizing that this isn’t going anywhere North or hypothetical right now.

“Victoria, any ideas?”

“I’d freeze time in a sex store. You know, rearrange all the dildos to look like baroque art, switch everyone’s clothes with the fetish outfits. Fill the peep shows with balloons. Then unfreeze and unleash chaos.”

You gawk at her, “Okay, we have a winner.”

She straightens his posture, making her appear taller, despite being the tallest of the three of you.

You lean against an antique Volkswagen bug, contemplating it. Victoria comes to sit on your left. Chloe still stands with her hands on her hips. He brow furrows and she scratches her lip.

“Why are we here again?”

“To kill some beer bottles.” You say, because simple answer are best for her confusion spells.

“Oh. Cool. Right. Wait, why would I wanna do this with you two. You guys are limp wristed nerds?”

“Hey! Now, I understand calling me limp wristed, but Victoria has two tennis rackets for hands. It requires a lot of wrist strength just to carry ‘em around.”

Victoria has her eyes closed, lips folded, and is shaking her head. You cackle. She chases you. You know this junk yard better, you’re ducking and weaving through plywood and old appliances.

“Maxine, I swear to God.”

You whoop and go skidding down a pile and knock into a stack of oil drums. They jostle. You dart forward and watch in horror as they topple.

Right onto Victoria.

You rewind. Faster. Faster. This can’t happen.

“Hey! Now, I understand calling me limp wristed, but Victoria has two tennis rackets for hands. It requires a lot of wrist strength just to carry ‘em around.”

Victoria has her eyes closed, lips folded, and is shaking her head. You cackle. She lunges at you, but you don’t run, letting yourself get picked up and be tickled in retaliation.

“How do you like my big hands, now?!”

You squeal, “I love them.”

Because you just watched her get crushed by oil drums and you’re still feeling the adrenaline pumping through you.

“Chloe, can we get out of here? It isn’t safe.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”*

* * *

You are seventeen and waking up with no blankets, spooning your favourite angry burrito. She always frowns in her sleep and it’s gonna give her early forehead lines. You smooth the crease with a thumb until she sighs and her face relaxes.

Quietly, you crawl over to your guitar and slide it into your lap. You’ve wanted to do this for years.

“We’ve got the afternoon… you’ve got this room for two. One thing I had left to do, discover me discoverin’ you.”

She twitches and groans. Bleary eyes squint at you. You imagine you look pretty majestic with a ray of sunlight hitting you and lighting up the honey wood of your guitar.

“Max, I hate this song.”

You cackle.

“And if you want love, we’ll make it, swim in a deep sea of blankets, this is bound to be awhile.”

Victoria is extricating herself from the blankets and giving you the most annoyed glare.

“Your body is a wonderland!”

A plush pillow hits you square in the face. In retaliation you play the key change, the worst part of the song. You lower your voice to your ‘sexy growl’.

“Damn, Baby, you frustrate me. I know you’re mine, all mine, all mine, but you look so good it hurts sometimes.”

Laughing, she smacks you with another pillow, “Max, I swear, I’ll call the cops.”

One whack hits its mark too well and sends you toppling ass over applecart off the bed. You and your guitar are fine, if not both a little winded. Victoria’s laughing harder at your legs windmilling trying to right yourself.

**A fluffy blonde head appears over the corner of the bed. You smile up at her, taking a moment to enjoy the view. So does she, apparently, noticing your exposed bits are pointed right at her. She grabs your hips and hauls you up until your slit is in her mouth.**

**You exhale and your eyes roll back. Fuck, she’s good at that.**

**You’re fully back on the bed and she’s multi tasking eating you out while rifling through her drawer pretty well. One by one, she pulls out a harness, lube, and a dildo. This morning is taking a turn for the very exciting.**

**Truth is, penetration isn’t your favourite sexual act, but the free hands it allows during the missionary position is very nice. That and Victoria uses a vibrating phallus when she’s inside you and that’s also very nice.**

**She loves this. Whenever she puts the harness on she gets this cocky rock star attitude that is insanely hot. You never tell her that though. Her head’s big enough as it is.**

**Victoria presses into you with a sigh. You let your head topple back onto the pillows. Nothing beats how close you get like this. Your legs are wrapped around her ribs and you’re making scratches across her shoulder blades. You kiss until you need to breathe. Her hips are rolling and ebbing into you so slowly and sweetly. She’s like the tide lapping on your shore.**

**Afterward, she’s panting against your cheek.**

**“If I was a guy I totally would have just impregnated you right now.”**

**“God, why are you so gross?” You shove her off.**

She fake pouts and reaches for her blinking phone to check the time and her messages. Her breath catches.

“Is everything okay?” You kiss her shoulder.

“You know that gallery I submitted those pinhole photos to?”

“Yeah?”

“They’ve accepted them. They’re gonna call me tonight to talk prices.”

“Holy shit! Baby, I’m so proud of you!” You tackle her.

Tears are beading in the corners of her eyes. You curl around her with your smaller body, spooning her side with all of your limbs wrapped around her torso.

“You should call your mom and rub it in her face.”

“She’ll either take credit or pass the ball to you. ‘Oh, of course you got in, Darling. They’re good friends of mine, and I mentioned that you were dating Max Caulfield. They want to have dinner with the two of you.’ Or better yet, ‘Yes, well that gallery does have very low standards. Now that they’re showing your work, I’m sure you’ll be raising the bar.’”

You groan, “God, you imitate your mother so well it’s terrifying.”

“If I ever turn into her, just put me down. Take me out back and put one between my eyes.”

She makes a finger gun for emphasis. You scoff and ruffle her hair.

“It’ll never happen. You actually have a soul. Now, get up. I want greasy protein before I have to do algebra.”

“You actually studied this time, so you should be fine.”

“Sure did, only thanks to my awesome girlfriend.”

“What? You have another girlfriend?”

You throw her a wink over your shoulder as you put on underwear.

“You know me, I have lots of photography groupies.”

She’s paused with her back turned to you. You zip up your pants and wander over to her, hooking your chin over her shoulder.

“Whatcha lookin’ at, Pat?”

She holds up a pair of plane tickets. Round trip to Paris for this July.

“My parents idea of an anniversary-slash-graduation gift. So, wanna go to Paris with me this July?”

She looks at you from below her lashes, a vulnerable gesture, not a seductive one. You swallow a few times before speaking.

“Yeah, why would I wanna take a dream vacation to the city of romance with you? What do you think this is, a partnership?”

“It was stupid, whatever. Nevermind.”

She tries to shoulder past you. You grab her wrist and pull her back.

“Victoria, I said yes. How could I say no to eating crepes and taking pictures of the Eiffel Tower with you?”

“Tour d’Eiffel.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Loud wet French fart noise.”

She’s wiping her eyes and you feel shitty for freaking her out enough to make her cry.

You grab your polaroid camera from Chloe and William and hold it up like an important item in a video game.

“Let’s take a shot to commemorate this moment. You getting into galleries, me singing John Mayer, us going to Paris. You getting a summer job as a backhoe with those shovels you call hands.”

“Shut up, Mouth Breather.”

She takes the camera from you because her arms are longer and steadier. And her hands are bigger. She seems jittery as she takes the picture.

“Something wrong?” Because you’re never quite sure unless it’s obvious.

“Just nervous about tonight.”

“'Kay, let’s go eat.”

You leave the dorm room and find all eyes on you. They’re all gawking before Dana starts a slow clap. Oh jeez, they heard all of that.

“Kate, please tell me you didn’t record any of that.”

Kate shakes her head, “You told me not to do that again, and while my YouTube subscribers ask, I’m respecting your privacy to do… whatever that was.”

**  
  
**

In math class you hear Juliet whisper-chewing Zachary out.

“How come you never wake me up with a John Mayer serenade?”

“Uhhh, because I don’t play guitar?”

You can’t help but snicker.

“Max is a better boyfriend than you.” She huffs.

“Duh, ‘cause she’s a girl.”

He leans back to give you a fistbump, you keep your eyes on the board as you receive it.

“Damn straight… well, the opposite.”

Kate can’t look at you without blushing. You imagine she had to grab her noise cancelling headphones this morning. Still, she’s pretty tolerant for someone stuck as Victoria’s neighbour.

The exception, of course, being that one time she was filming her YouTube channel while you two were being loud next door. That went viral for about a week. Mainly for her completely deadpan expression as she answered questions from her viewers, followed by her (and anyone watching) hearing Victoria’s dirty talk, and then sitting with hands folded in prayer.

It only got a couple hundred… thousand views. Your parents didn’t see it. You really hope they didn’t see it. Message received Kate.

So, of course you played ‘Wonderland’ this morning and the whole dorm heard. You’ve had no less than three different girls bat their eyelashes at you in the past hour.

And you’re flattered, but also very taken.

Your phone buzzes with a message from Victoria.

‘so, Courtney shit the bed on bannerz. they need to go up this week for the dance. need to go to Nathan’s after school to work on them.’

You should really pay attention to this lesson if you wanna maintain that 3.7 GPA, but you’ll forget if you don’t text back.

‘ugh, Nathan’s? are you cereal? his house is so creepy and i need to get gas if i’m driving all the way out there’

‘yeah, but the club room’s taken 2nite, and we’re not getting glitter paint all over my bedroom.’

‘we could use my house owo’

‘Nathan already has the supplies. don’t be a h8r max’

‘ffffiiinnneee, i’ve gotta put in some lap time tonight tho, so i’ll meet you there. k gotta pay attention to math. <3 you’

‘luv u, sweetie xoxox’

**  
  
**

Your car isn’t as nice as Chloe or Victoria’s, it’s a standard broke student rocket, but it gets you from point A to point B. Honestly, you rarely use it and are thinking of selling it to Warren. You just like the independence that comes with being able to drive yourself to the gas station when you need a slushie at 3 AM.

The Prescott Manor looks like some giant cabin in the woods at night. Technically, a house just is a cabin on steroids. #ShowerThoughts

You re-watched American Beauty recently. Nathan kinda reminds you of the guy who films plastic bags, only a more violent kind of creepy. However, that movie does make you think every time you watch it. It’s true, every day is the first day of the rest of your life, except for one.

Which is great, because as far as days go, this one was pretty amazing. These next few months are going to be amazing. Victoria will have her gallery debut, then a trip to Paris of all things, followed by your victory lap at Blackwell.

It’s gonna be a fun and busy year.

You take the front steps two at a time and ring the bell before entering. It’s Sean who gets the door.

“Hey, Max. How are you doing?”

“Good, thanks, here to help out with the banner.”

“The girls are in the lounge.”

You step in the door, but keep your back against the frame and your hand on the knob. Something about Sean doesn’t sit right with you. Raising Nathan probably factors into it. His teeth are too white and his eyes are too clear. He’s like a sinister ice sculpture.

He heads into the kitchen, “Can I get you something to drink, Max?”

“No thanks, I’m driving tonight.”

He pokes his head back through the doorway, “I meant like milk or a soda.”

“Still good, thanks.”

You break your rule by turning your back on him to descend the stairs. The room is filled with long strips of paper, glue, and paint. Victoria is leaning on her proverbial shovel, occasionally pausing to bark orders at Courtney.

“Hey Max.” Courtney sounds relieved.

It’s no secret that you soften Victoria by proxy. Still, Courtney wouldn’t need to deal with the whip cracking if she had fulfilled her task on time.

“How can I help?” You say.

Victoria’s face is glued to her phone. You snake your arms around her waist and walk your hands up to her boobs for a squeeze. That manages to get her attention. She grabs one of your hands and twirls you, almost knocking you into a banner.

Courtney sighs.

“Can you fill in the lettering so it’s solid?” She says.

“Sure thing.”

You kiss Victoria’s palm and make your way through the obstacle course to reach the paint and to get a good view of the posters. Gravity isn’t being your friend right now, the couch cushions keep moving you off balance.

“Dad wants to know if we want anything to eat.” Nathan says.

“I ate before I came.” You say.

Victoria snorts. You flip her off. She blows a kiss. You catch it and put it in your pocket for later.

Nathan mimes gagging.

“I could eat,” Courtney looks up, “Victoria?”

She shrugs, “I’ll probably peck if there’s food.”

“Ugh, girls can we knock it off with the food shame and just say a decisive answer?”

“Two yeses and a no, Nathan.” You say as you fill in a V.

He grumbles and disappears back up the stairs. While painting you enter a zen kind of calm. You just keep it inside the lines and don’t focus on anything else. Courtney is a similar way. Once working she’s a wall of silence.

**  
  
**

There’s still ambient noise, like the footsteps from upstairs and Victoria sighing every few minutes.

“They’ll call when they can, Baby.” You say.

“What if they changed their mind?”

You look up at her, she’s gnawing the cuticles off her thumb, it’s puffy and red from the damage. Straightening your body makes your back crack in a scary and satisfying way.

“Victoria, come over here and paint with me.”

“But--”

Your voice cuts through her response.

“Now.”

Courtney stiffens and you can see why it would raise red flags. Without context, it makes you look scary and controlling. She isn’t aware of the terms and conditions of your relationship, which include intervening when the other is doing something harmful and unproductive.

Victoria only responds to authority when she gets like this.

Gingerly, she follows your path through the mess to sit next to you. You hand her a paint brush. Her thumb is raw and you hiss through your teeth.

Nathan returns with Thai take out. There’s like one Thai restaurant in Arcadia Bay and they have the Vortex Club’s order memorized.

You keep working, but Victoria feeds you the tofu and broccoli from her pad thai. Her phone buzzes and she fumbles with her chopsticks to get it. You grab the box from her to free her hands.

“Hello?” She stands, “Hi, yeah. No, it’s not too late to talk. Sure.”

She goes into the other room and you buzz with excitement. You fire a text to Chloe telling her the good news, eat some noodles, then get back to work.

“Max, can you pass the yellow paint?”

You toss the tube to Courtney underhanded. Nathan has even joined in on painting. Victoria enters like a tornado.

“They want to see more of my photos!”

You set your brush down.

“Get outta town!”

“Only, she wants to see them tonight before she goes on vacation, so I gotta leave now.”

You hop over the piles of art supplies into her arms. Easily, she picks you up and spins you.

“Baby, I’m so proud of you!”

“Do you wanna come? Courtney are you good here?”

Courtney makes a noise that sounds like a passive ‘no’. You stroke Victoria’s cheeks.

“I do wanna come, but we’ll all feel better if this gets done tonight. Plus, I drove, so I wouldn’t even be able to sit passenger in your car and annoy you with my indie garbage. Go send ‘em your pictures, and I’ll text you and see you tomorrow.”

Now she looks all conflicted about leaving. You swat her ass, chasing her up the stairs with little slaps to her butt.

She won't stop kissing you at the door and leave.

“You should come with meeeee.” She whines.

“Love you, bye.”

“Maaaxxxx~”

You’re moving the door between you, “I’m gonna slam the door on your lips.”

“Haruhi-chan is so cruel!”

“Go send your pics in, Weeb!”

“Text me as soon as you get home. I love you.”

You watch as she treks down the driveway and melts into darkness, then is illuminated again by the light of her car. You stand waving as she pulls out of the driveway with a honk.

It takes you and Courtney a whole hour to completely finish all the banners. You hear raised voices from upstairs and share a worried look with Courtney. She shrugs and starts putting her pencils away.

“You need a ride home?” You say.

“My mom’s picking me up. Thanks, though.”

Your car is a sty, you understand. This club needs to coordinate carpooling better.

You take a sip of the lemonade Nathan brought you. He’s been a really good host lately, you wonder if Sean’s been on his case about manners.

“Nate-dog, Mr. P! We’re heading out.”

Nathan appears at the stairs and surveys the mostly cleaned mess you’ve left of his lounger.

“Anyone need a ride home?”

You shake your head while finishing your lemonade. You succeed in sloshing it on your hoodie. Rewind, no spill, solid gold.

“We’re all good. Dishes in the sink or dishwasher?” You say.

“Just leave ‘em.”

He walks you to the door and gives you a half hug. A surprisingly affectionate action.

“Get home safe.” He says.

“Thanks Nathan.”

“Just covering my own ass. Victoria would literally kill me if anything happened to you.”

Courtney waits by your car with you until her mom pulls up. You wave as they drive away and then get into your own crappy tin can. You turn on the engine and see Sean standing in the beams of your headlights. You jump at the sight of him. He walks over to your side, you roll down the window.

Your phone lights up in his hand with a text from Chloe.

“Sorry for scaring you, couldn’t call and let you know you’d forgot this.”

Your phone was in your pocket at the door. You know because you run your thumb over the volume control when you’re nervous.

How did he get your phone?

“Thanks.” Your left hand touches his as you take it from him.

You should rewind.

* * *

You are seventeen… you were seventeen. You don’t know where you are or what you are now. Lost?

You remember

You remember getting into your car. Was it your car? Everything felt fuzzy. Like when you freeze time… or when you’re high.

Up ahead in the distance you saw a shimmering light.

You got out of your car and ran into the woods. Someone was chasing you. Were they chasing you?

Were you running?

Your hoofs (hands?) scrambled against the rocks. Gunshots echoed through the forest. It disturbed the birds.

“Jesus Sean, do I have to do every fucking thing myself?”

“I didn’t mean to give her the Hand of God, how was I supposed to know the kid was a match? I was just gonna use her as a sacrifice.”

“And now she’s a threat to our whole operation.”

No, you weren’t running. You were throwing up in the toilet when you felt cool hands on your head.

“Tori?” You said.

Blue eyes looked down at you.

You run now, knocking the man by the door over. This room is too dark. Too dark. You need to get away. Go anywhere.

You try to rewind, pause, anything.

Hands claw at you, dragging you back to the dark room. You see a picture on the wall. The forest with a single doe in the foreground.

Take me there.

These woods are lovely dark and deep, but I have promises to keep. (Together in Paris. We’ll always have Paris.)

You’ll never have Paris.

The world around you begins to shift from darks to lights. The last thing you remember you were running for the door. Had to find the passage back to the place you were before.

“Relax, Kid. It’ll be over soon.” Says sour breath in your ear.

Nathan’s blue eyes look at you from a crack in the floorboards.

̋ͫ͛͢T̒̎̐h́̆̂̀́̿̏̚͡͡êͮ̑ͫ͘͢s̐̓͆ͣ͌͏eͮͨͪͭ͊͆̋̚ ͫͦ̿̓̉̓̾̀̕w̷ͭͬͫ̀͘oͩ̄͑͆̍͆̑̋͟͡o̧ͩ̌͑͊͆̎̋d̡̛ͫ̓̚҉s̏ͣ͛ͫ҉̧̛ ̡̀̌̿a̽͐̕ŕ̈̿͋͝͏ě̸̉̿ͮͮ̉̅ ͆͛̂ͫ̈́́̆̚͜l̛ͭͣȯͦ̊̌ͥ́v̸ͤ͒ͬͭͭͥ҉ę̡̄̔̓̀l͛̋͏҉y̧͆̊͗̉ͩ̿ͭ̚͝ ̈̒ͥͣ̏̉̔ͬ̆̀ḋ̓ͤͮ̓ͥ͊͐͠͞͝a̢͂ͤͮ̈̏͝r͊̇́k͐͜ ̷̅̎̐͛̋ͣ̀a̍̔̓̔͛̒͆͒̄͘͞n̢ͫͥ͊̾̀d̴́̑̿̓̋́͢ ̷̧̿͗̽̋ͬͨ̓̔̅d̀ͩ̒ͣ͜͟e̴͗́͑̕è҉p͛͂͌̚̕͞.̛̇͝

̑̄̿̔̊̈́̚͏҉

͑̅̃͂ͮ͒́̅́Ỹ̡̅̃o̴̊ͬ͏u̡ͨͦͥͧ̓̏̎͘ ̽ͯ̂͂͑̃̌͞ĉͬ̅̐ͨ̇͗ͦ̃a̵ͪ͌̋͏͢n̴̛̈̌̓ͥ̉̕ ͂̐̃͐ͭ̔̃́͟c̽̅͐ͫ͗̓ͦ҉̢hͨͤ͘e͛̍̊̊̈́ͦ̎̃͌c͂ͩ̃̆̔͟kͥ̓ͧ͊̔̇͒̕ ̈́ͧ̓͋̒ͮ̉҉͝o̸̿ͭ̀̆̑͐͒úͫͩͫ̇͑tͩ̉̽̂̄̏̀̀͜ ̡̧͐̂̇̔͑̈́̔̐a͂̌̊͂ͯ͋͘͞n͒̂ͥͯ̅͋̈́̊y͌̀̏ͯ̄ͬ͟͟ ͑͘t̶ͬͥ͂̽ͤ͑̓ͨ̋̕i̢̡ͧͦ͂ͭ̄̑͐ͩ̉m͐̑̐̔̓͘͟͝e̵ͧͭͮ ̴̴̌ͣ́̆̍̐ͯy̡̢ͨ̆ͪ̓̿̿ͦ͗̚oͥ̈́͐̽ͤͥ͏u͌͑̎͛ ͦͤ͑̊̉ͦ͠l͌̅̒͂̓̚͡͝ĭͭ̈k̍͆̀͐ê̢ͤͦ̀ͣͣ̚,ͩ̔̊ͪ̈́ͦ͛͜ ̂ͫ̑͏̧b̆ͨ҉̡͝u̸͂̅̓ͥ̓ͫ͐͗t͌̎̍̈͢͞͝ ̐̽̉́̿̽̄҉y̆ͨ̑̈́͘ǫ̡ͣ̒̈ͭͦͮͭ̅ủͧ̅ͮ͂̚̚ ͭ̍͘͜͝c̸̨̑ͬa̶̶̴̒͛ͬ̒̆̓n̿̋̔͜͜͞ ̢ͤ̇ͣͩ͗nͤ͋̐̏̇̆͢͢e̶͑͌ͩ͆̀v̸ͭ͐̒̀͂ͩͨ͜ë́ͪ̆ͥ̌͘r̷͗͑́́̑̽́҉ ̐͌̎l̸̊ͫͣ͝eͣ̌͊̕a̶̧ͮͭ͝v̂ͬ͜e̴͒͆.̶̧ͬ͊͒ͧ̾͡

̵̶ͩ̍͂̾ͤ͆̋

̓̆ͭ͏̀͡M̡ͯ̑͌͜iͯ̃ͥ͛́lͨ̓͘e̊ͨ͑̅̂̾̅҉̸ṡ̾ͫͪ́̔ͩ̕͏͞ ͤ̍̆ͭͣͨ͡t̴̂̎̆̈ͧ̊o̢̊ͣͣ̒ͩ̏́̑̃͡ ̴̢̊̀̚g̷̨̨̉̒̇̈ͯ̐͊ͨ̍ơ͛̅́̓͢ ̵̈́ͫ̈ͨͦ̇͂b̸̢̏̈́͂̒ͨ͜e̷ͭͥ̔́̚͠f̃͗͊͂̕ǫ͐̍͆͝rͩ̈́̿ͭ҉̴e̷̾̈́ͯ̐̏́͘ ̛̛̓̌͆̎͗ͦͤ́y̔̅̈́ͥ͆͡o̾̌ͦͣ̍͢ưͬ̀̒̈̐̿ͧ̆̓҉ ̐ͩ́s̋̂ͧ͗̄̌̄́̀͟ļ̶̽͊͛̏̑̍ͪ͋ęͦͣ̌̋̃̾͒e̎̏͌ͣ͠p̨̨̈̒̊̄́.̢̈́̔ͩ̂̿̿̃́

̸̅̈́̓͂͗͘

̸̶̢ͩͦͯY̆͏oͧ̍͆͐̈̽͐͜ü̈́̎͜͝ ̷̄̃͐̊̚cͥ̒͛̋̾̌͐͏a̅̆̐͞n͊̅̐̒̒ͭ̑̋͏͏’̧͗̂͂ͪ̐͢t̢̓̚ ̃̀̈͛ͭ̇̊̔̀f̒̂̿̃͐̍̀ì̴̧̛̒n̸̾ͧͦͮͭ̚̚d̵̿ͨ̑̀͡ ̈ͮ̽̿y̅̾̈́̀o̓̈͂͛ͨ̅ͯ͌uͣ̑̒r̸̒̾̀̂͟ ̴̛̋̈́̽͋̈͂̓ͩ̀b̵ͭ͛͋ͪo̸̷̡̐̃ͥ̿ͬd̨̎̑̉̆͞͡y̛͒̽̎͐̄̏ͤ.̴̈́̎̑̽̊ͫͧͯ

**  
  
**

͋̿̔ͮ̓̑ͣVictoria, I’m

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References this chapter include:  
> Ouran High School Host Club  
> Hotel California  
> Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost  
> American Beauty  
> Anastasia  
> Casablanca
> 
> As well as musical nods to The Eagles and John Mayer.  
> Kate's video is kind of her AU retribution for Kate's other video. It's also a reference to the Thin Walls Challenge.
> 
> I love getting feedback.


	6. AD PART ONE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I challenge you to read this while listening to Youth by Daughter without crying. If you can, you're a stronger person than me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be the final chapter, but it became so huge that I decided to split it up. Also, because I'm a sadist and I wanted to inflict this emotional chapter upon you all.
> 
> Thanks for the continued feedback and support. I hope you're enjoying the ride. Strap in and get ready for the final act PART ONE.

You are a ghost. Or maybe you’re in some kind of fucked up purgatory. Or maybe you’re everywhere and nowhere? Dead and alive and somewhere between.

 

What you do know is that you’re not where you’re supposed to be. You’re supposed to be celebrating Victoria’s gallery entry. You’re supposed to be home. You’re supposed to go out killing pop cans with Chloe this week.

 

The worst thing is that you’re forced to watch without being able to intervene.

 

Victoria falls asleep waiting for your phone call. When she awakes to no messages, you watch her jaw click and her throat bob. She throws on one of your hoodies and a pair of sweatpants as she drives to your house.

 

She drums her fingers along to the radio. She pretends to hate Taylor Swift, but she never changes the station when she’s on.

 

Her car pulls into the driveway, and your dad comes out the screen door to meet her.

 

“Hey Victoria, is Max with you?”

 

She falls back against her car door as if physically struck.

 

“I was really hoping she’d be here.”

 

Dad’s breath catches. He opens his mouth in a too-wide yawn. He’s panting.

 

“Maybe… maybe she’s at Chloe’s house. She was painting with Courtney last night.” She’s talking too fast.

 

Mom comes outside, “Hey, what’s going on?”

 

“Max didn’t come home last night.”

 

She clutches Dad’s bicep. You kind of phase through the car and rush between them.

 

I’m right here! Guys! I’m here.

 

Victoria is frantically dialing. Your dad is running inside to get his keys.

 

“I’m going to go over to Chloe’s. Didn’t they have plans to go to the shooting range?”

 

“For Wednesday,” Victoria covers the receiver, “Hey, Court, did Max leave before or after you last night? She. She. She didn’t come home last night and didn’t text me.”

 

Her voice is doing that nasally thing it does when she’s fighting back tears.

 

Dad pulls out of the driveway and Mom takes the stairs two at a time on her way to your room. She pulls back the covers and checks the closet. You always fit into small places as a kid. You’d pop out of cupboards and boxes.

 

“Boo! Did I scare you?”

 

God, this has to be dream. Wake up. Wake up.

 

Victoria’s steps drag up the stairs. She stands in the doorway, watching your mother tear apart every box, pulling the laundry basket out from under your bed.

 

“Courtney says Max left the Prescott’s house at eleven last night. She was supposed to call me when she got home. She never forgets.” Victoria says.

 

“What was she doing at the Prescott house?” Mom’s voice shakes.

 

“Painting banners for the dance. I asked her to help out, because I had to go home and email pictures to a gallery,” Her voice cracks, “We were gonna leave together, but she wanted to get it done so I wouldn’t be stressing about it this morning.”

 

Baby. Don’t blame yourself.

 

Mom is holding one of your shirts. Victoria begins to cry. The phone rings. Mom picks it up.

 

“Jack?”

 

The air in the room is stiff with anticipation.

 

“No, Courtney says Max left at eleven last night and no one’s seen her since.”

 

She nods a few times, mouth stiff.

 

“Love you, too. Don’t worry, we’ll find her.”

 

You’re not sure there’s a ‘you’ to find anymore. What if you broke yourself into pieces and scattered throughout time? A Bad Wolf.

 

“No one at the Price house has seen her.” Mom says.

 

“We need to call the police.” Victoria says.

 

“It hasn’t been twenty-four hours, Sweetie.”

 

“Doesn’t matter. If we’re worried about her safety they’ll take it seriously. Twenty-four hours is more like a guideline.”

 

“I’ll make the call.” Mom says.

 

Victoria hugs your pillow and buries her face into it.

 

God, is this all she’ll have left of you? What happens when the smell fades? You need to be here. You need to hold her and tell her it’ll be okay.

 

“My daughter is missing.” You mother says into the receiver.

 

The police question Victoria first, because it’s almost always the partner in these situations. Her cold facade breaks easily, and she’s having a hard time answering questions because she’s crying so hard.

 

“We’re sorry, Miss. If you were her boyfriend, we’d question you just the same.” Officer Tomlin says, like that’s why she’s crying.

 

Chloe comes over and stands in the yard with her hands in her pockets. She smokes half a pack of cigarettes in an hour and barks at any passersby who loiter too long.

 

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

 

News of your disappearance travels fast in a small town built on gossip and Victoria’s cellphone is beeping constantly.

 

The cops say they’re going to trace the GPS in your cell and car. Hey, they might actually find you.

 

You can go home. You can be safe and hold your family and tell them everything you never thought to say.

 

Because that’s all you can think of now, what you should have said.

 

You should have told Chloe that without her you would never have grown into who you are.

 

You should have thanked your parents for being so warm and teaching you how to be good and strong. For being so open and loving to Victoria.

 

You should have told Victoria that you meant it when you said always and that her name was tattooed on your heart from the moment you met. That you’d carve open heaven and earth to get back to her. You’d be the Orpheus begging Hades to give you your Eurydice back.

 

You just really hope she feels the same, because you’re stuck in a Greek myth and you could use some help escaping whatever shitty afterlife or half-life this is.

 

Everyone sits or stands in the kitchen in this loose circle. Joyce is forcing your mom to finally sit down, and is boiling the kettle for tea.

 

The phone rings and everyone reaches out to grab it.

 

It’s Victoria who gets it.

 

“Max?” She says and your heart continues to break.

 

She nods silently as the person on the other line talks.

 

“What does that mean? No. No, she didn’t have any plans to go to California. She would have told someone, okay?!”

 

Dad reaches for the phone, sensing the end of her temper fast approaching. Surprisingly, she passes it over without a fuss. Her gaze is fixed on the wall by Chloe’s head.

 

Her motions are jerky as she jams her hands in her pockets and searches for something. Dad hangs up the phone.

 

“Max’s phone pinged a cell tower just past the border. They’re going to have to involve the FBI.” He says.

 

Victoria finds what she was looking for. A ring, smooth and green jade. She holds it in her palm and then turns her wrist downwards to the table. It sticks for a moment before clattering to the scratched wood surface.

 

“I was gonna ask her to marry me.”

 

Your mom covers her mouth and finally begins to cry.

 

It’s the end of the fucking world.

 

 

* * *

 

 

You’ve been missing for a week (or has it only been a day? It feels like years...) and now you’re stuck haunting the halls of Blackwell. April is either a month of sun or rain. There is no in between. In either some grim, mocking pathetic fallacy, it doesn’t rain. It’s the brightest, sunniest April on record. Thanks, Global Warming.

 

The sun catches on Nathan’s tooth as it goes sailing out of his mouth and skittering, bloody, across the floor.

 

Victoria’s face is contorted, a wounded animal.

 

“Where is she?!”

 

She smashes his head against a locker. It dents on impact.

 

Some students are screaming, others have their phones out, filming the whole thing. The next viral sensation ‘Teen Murder Suspect Gets Beaten By Grieving Girl LOL’.

 

Dana and Chloe are the first to jump in and actually do something. For her trouble, Dana gets a broken nose from Victoria’s elbow. Hard to believe, but she’s so strong that the two of them are having difficulty holding her back.

 

Adrenaline is a hell of a drug.

 

Security arrives and there are actual grown men who can drag your girlfriend off Nathan before she caves his head in.

 

They carry her thrashing form to the nurse's office.

 

“Bitch flipped out!” Zachary says.

 

Dana, gentle, Dana with patience that Buddha himself envies, punches Zachary square in the gut.

 

“Max is fucking missing, Zach!” She bursts into tears.

 

But you don’t really notice because Nathan Prescott is looking at you. Not through you or past you like everyone else.

 

He’s looking you in the eye. That was the last thing you saw before you… whatever happened to you.

 

“You can see me?”

 

You take a step forward.

 

“Stay away from me, Bitch!” He shouts.

 

Everyone assumes it’s a delayed reaction to Victoria’s attempt on his life.

 

 

* * *

 

 

You’ve been missing for three months, and while no one has found a body, the general consensus is that you got murdered by the Prescott family and the cops covered it up.

 

For all you know, that’s the truth.

 

Nathan certainly doesn’t respond well to you turning up in his house to ask him about it.

 

Victoria’s gone home for the summer. She got to leave school early due to pressure from the Prescott family for her mental health leave or expulsion.

 

You were supposed to go to Paris this month. Knowing her corny ass, she was going to propose to you along La Seine, because Amelie is one of your favourite movies.

 

Was. Or, whatever.

 

This was supposed to be the beginning of your life, not the end of it. It’s not fucking fair, and you’re going to keep Nathan Prescott from sleeping until he does something about it.

 

“Where is my body?” You ask him.

 

“I don’t know!” He says.

 

You haunt the woods, you haunt the diner and the skate park, you haunt the junkyard that Chloe works summers at. You talk to Chloe a lot, filling her silences with chatter the way she used to when you were kids.

 

“That blue hair looks hot on you. Not that I would stray from my significant otter, but damn, Girl. Did you ever regret dumping me? I mean, it felt like you did. I could just be self-centred though. That kind of thing happens when the only person you can talk to keeps telling you to fuck off and you are for all intents and purposes, dead.”

 

Chloe doesn’t say anything as she crushes cars into box shaped cubes. OR are they cube shaped boxes?

 

The world may never know.

 

A part of you wonders if the cubed cars remind her of the accident. If she’s wearing that day as a badge on her chest. That or it’s just a paying job in this dying resource town. A rare commodity, especially for a scientist.

 

At least Casper got to sniff Christina Ricci’s underwear in that cheesy 90s movie. This ghost business is bullshit. You can’t sense anything. No touching, no smelling, no tasting.

 

You don’t need to eat. You really fucking miss eating. Like a total creep, you sit at the Two Whales and watch people nosh. It’s soothing in a way. Tourists visiting stop by for a taste of the famous burgers and just watch the world go by.

 

One of the bathroom stalls says ‘Max Caulfield is a dyke’. You run your fingers over your own cursive ‘Yup :)’ beneath it.

 

The letters follow your fingers like one of those worded cursors everyone used on their Neopets pages back in 2004. Wait, holy shit, you can re arrange the graffiti.

 

This changes everything.

 

You spend the next week (month?) Making cryptic haiku when you can. It’s weird. Any time you try to directly spell out your problem, the graffiti reverts to its previous form. Vague bullshit only, you guess. You make a lot of holes to other universes. Maybe Victoria will take the hint.

 

Or Chloe, she did go through an X-Files phase and owns a book on seances.

 

Nathan takes a vacation to escape you sitting at the foot of his bed and watching him sleep.

 

If you were alive, you’d feel bad about whittling on the boy’s mental stability.

 

But, he’s the reason you’re not, so he can fucking deal.

 

Visiting your parents hurts more than anything. It is unnatural for parents to have to bury a child. Your parents don’t even have the closure of that.

 

You watch them sleep walk through a silent house. They step around elephants that grow bigger with everything they don’t say.

 

You hope they don’t blame each other. You hope they don’t blame Victoria.

 

Your room is locked, but not boxed up. Everything is exactly as you left it. The laundry hamper still half full. Mom almost washed it when she realised it might be the last of your smell.

 

What if this is all you get? You get to watch your family rot and grieve and do nothing about it. You can’t just stay passive. You need to fix this.

 

You sob. You want your life back.

 

 

* * *

 

 

You were supposed to be turning eighteen this month. Thank fuck it’s September, because haunting an empty Blackwell is so very boring.

 

And, after spending a summer testing your powers you know a little more of what you can do, despite not being quite alive.

 

You can:

-Talk to Nathan for some weird reason.

-Take control of the local deer. But doing so makes you tired.

-Get tired, shittily enough.

-Move letters around in graffiti.

-Leave suggestions in some peoples heads.

-Make little gusts of wind, nothing too crazy.

 

And then you see her piling out of her car with several boxes. She let her roots grow out and her hair is even darker than before. Around her neck on a leather cord is your engagement ring, the rest of her is black from head to toe.

 

The colour of mourning.

 

You catch up with her and you’re floored, because she looks like a pointier clone of Noelle. She did when you first met, but there was no context then.

 

“Hey, Baby.”

 

Sweetie. Shithead. Honey Bunches of Oats. Dick. Sweet Tits. Ho. Gorgeous. Monster Hands. Cookie Monster. Victoria’s Secret. Weeb. Hot lips. Tori.

 

She can’t hear any of your pet names. It doesn’t matter because she’s here and you just drink in the sight of her.

 

“Did you end up going to Paris? How was it? I’ve always wanted to take pictures down there. I know you think it’s creepy, but I bet it’s quiet and nice. I like the thought of having my bones stacked into arches with other people. All those bones a community art project.”

 

The Senior Dorms are on the bottom floor and she’s next door neighbours with Kate again. Kate pales seeing Victoria.

 

“Hey, Victoria. H-how was your summer?”

 

“How do you think, Kate? I had plans to go to Paris and get engaged, but all I ended up engaging in was an FBI investigation. I see you set-up a Memorial Facebook page for Max. Thanks for that.”

 

You wish you comfort Kate after that frosty blast. She tugs her cardigan around herself and descends the stairs.

 

A Max Caulfield Memorial Facebook? That’s just lame. Can’t you at least have a campy MySpace page or a cool posthumous Tumblr?

 

Victoria’s abandoned taste for covering her walls in pictures of you, and your drawings. That’s something you’re glad for. The amount of photos you took together.

 

And the songs and videos. Maybe it’ll be enough pieces of you for her to hold on until you can fix this.

 

It’s never gonna be enough. You know this.

 

She sheds her sweater. Beneath she wears an old tank top she bought you when you joined the swim team. It’s teal and has this cute otter labelled ‘Significant Otter’. There, on her shoulder, is something new.

 

A tattoo.

 

A tattoo of your lips. On the spot you always kissed.

 

Fucking--

 

You are so done. She shouldn’t have to do that. You’re right here! You try to put your fist through the wall and scream, but you aren’t even given that satisfaction.

 

Victoria flops onto her bed and opens her phone. The lock screen and wallpaper are of you. She opens her images and you crane your head to see shots of her in a cocktail dress at what you assume was her gallery opening. She swipes until she finds what she’s looking for.

  
A video you took when you stole her phone. It’s nothing special, just you making 

silly faces and using your Golum voice. Anything is special now, you suppose. She watches it and it’s the first time you see her smile.

 

It quickly fades into a crumpled face and tears.

 

“Max, please.” She says.

 

“I’m right here.”

 

You crawl up her lying form and rest your forehead against hers. Neither of you can feel it. At least you can see it. You need her to know that you’re here.

 

You didn’t leave. You’re just stuck somewhere.

 

‘Max is still alive.’ You drum into her head, hoping the suggestion sticks.

 

“I didn’t end up going to Paris. It wasn’t a trip for me, it was for us. I did go to my gallery opening and they liked it. People really liked my pictures, Max. They asked me what inspired me about photography and I said,” She chokes, “I said that you can capture a feeling in a frame. A single moment in time that people will look at and see what you see. I told them that my girlfriend taught me that.”

 

Your body is shaking with the force of your own sobs, “So they asked where you were, and you know what Mom did.”

 

She clears her throat, “‘Have you heard of the photographer, Maxine Caulfield? Yes, that girl missing and presumed dead? Victoria met Max in high school, Blackwell, yes, her disappearance was a stain on the school’s reputation. They were soulmates, poor thing.”

 

“She fucking didn’t.”

 

“Yeah she did.” She says to the silence.

 

Victoria winces, that pained expression she gets when she’s internally tearing herself down. You want to push black hair away from the wet eyelashes it’s caught on.

 

“I should have waited. I never should have left without you. Your parents must hate me.”

 

You sigh, “Nothing gold can stay.”

 

Victoria lurches up and looks around wildly.

 

“Max?!”

 

She heard that?

 

“Nature’s first green is gold,   
Her hardest hue to hold.   
Her early leaf’s a flower;   
But only so an hour.   
Then leaf subsides to leaf.   
So Eden sank to grief,   
So dawn goes down to day.   
Nothing gold can stay.”

You say it together. Years of talking patterns ingrained have you matching syllable for syllable.

When you finish, you try to grab her chin. Her eyes are on you and for a moment you can swear she meets your eye.

“I’m still in the denial stage of grief. Fuck me, I thought I heard her for a second.” Victoria rubs her temples.

She gets up and puts her iTunes on. She chooses a rip of a YouTube collab you and Kate did of ‘You Belong to Me’ for her channel. Her subscribers liked your collabs. There were a lot of comments about how cute you two were together. You kinda forgot about that.

Victoria lies back on her bed. She still rests on her side, as if spooning you. For a moment you can pretend this is a normal Sunday and she’s going to scratch your tummy and make you watch subtitled anime. And, and then you’re gonna pass out together and wake up to a worried text from your mother.

You can hear Victoria’s breath right near your ear and it’s enough to soothe you to sleep.

Or go into stasis, whatever ghosts do.

 

* * *

 

Like, the Stevie Nicks song, you too are on the Edge of Seventeen. Standing in the house where you were last seen. That’s not a lyric of the song, you’re just here to talk to Nathan. On a Monday, so he has no excuse to burn sage or throw holy water or whatever attempt at exorcising you from his house is this time. Your favourite attempt was with the dust devil.

“Yo, Nathan. Wake the fuck up.”

He flips over onto his stomach and covers his head with a pillow.

“Fuck off! You’re not real.”

“As real as the stack of bodies you guys probably have under your dark room.”

“We don’t kill the girls we take.”

“Bullshit, that guy called me a sacrifice.”

“I don’t know what they do with them. I’m just the bait.”

You snort, “Yeah, you’re such a catch.”

He groans either at your pun or persistent haunting.

“What do you want from me?” He says.

“Well, my life back for starters.” Nathan makes an irritated noise.

“I told you already, I don’t know how!”

“Then ask your shitlord dad.”

He unwinds himself from his blankets, he should be getting up for school anyway. His pyjamas consist of an undershirt and boxers. He scratches his stomach revealing a trail of hair. You curl your lip. Gross.

“Are you gonna follow me into bathroom, cause I warn you, there’s no pussy for you to look at.”

“It’s not like I make a habit of watching people pee anyway.”

Nathan raises his eyebrows, surprised.

“What?”

“I thought that was a thing lesbians did.”

You cycle between facial expressions showing concern, annoyance, bewilderment, and anger.

“What?! Where are you getting your information on gay sex?”

Nathan goes to the bathroom without answering. You drift through his house looking for clues to your own whereabouts.

The doorway where you had your last kiss.

The lounge where you had your last meal.

The dark room where you had your last breath.

The dark room.

Entering, you feel some kind of psychic pain. Your teeth chatter and you grab at your face. The walls have eyes, pictures of eyes. Girls eyes. Your eyes. Nathan’s eyes. They twist and blink, staring at you. You have to get out of here. Did you ever leave? Maybe your body is-

You look at the floor. Nothing. Blackness.

You feel a tug, and turn. That photo of the deer.

You tried to go back in time to a place you never were.

“Max!”

Nathan actually sounds worried.

You drift up through the floors and find him heaving into the toilet. You’d hold his hair, but you’re non-corporeal and it’s his fucking fault.

“Guilt’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

“So’s a fifth of vodka and my diazepam.”

“Jesus, Nathan, that could down a horse. Are you trying to die?”

He looks up at you with a pale face and teary eyes. You refuse to feel sorry for him.

“You have English first period. And quit stealing all of the fucking pens.”

He washes his face, “I like making ballpoint art.”

“So, buy your own pens.” You lean against the wall.

“My family pays for everything at the school. They’re practically my pens anyway.”

This kid. This kid is so fucking frustrating. What the hell is this entitled shit rat’s deal?

You can see pink scars on his nose and hairline from where Victoria beat him. She was terrifying that day, but a fucked up part of you feels satisfied. Would you have done the same if Victoria went missing?

Absolutely. You’re smaller and don’t have the same pent up rage, but you could do some damage. Like maybe break a toe?

Nathan sighs and looks at you, “I mean, I don’t see why you’re so surprised. You’re lesbians. Lesbians never get to live happily ever after.”

Ouch. So he must get his education from Netflix.

“That’s actually an interesting bit of queer history. You see, America used to have standards where the only way you could write lesbian fiction was if it didn’t turn out for them--”

“Oh my god, Max, I don’t care.”

He turns on the shower and you continue with your lecture.

“Modern films take cues from these old stories, thinking that it’s somehow more romantic and dramatic if one or both of the characters die. Yeah, like, we know it’s been shitty to be in homoromantic relationships in the past, this is fiction, give us a fucking happy ending.”

“I’m getting out of the shower, leave now or forever see my balls.”

You make gagging noises as you exit the bathroom.

“Don’t forget to put enough gel to make you look like a Ken doll in your hair!” You call over your shoulder.

He goes to school with floppy hair and a stiff sneer today. You take a kind of sick pleasure in the change to his appearance.

There are dark circles around his eyes. You wonder if you should have let him sleep.

He’s ten minutes for English, but Mrs. Hoyta knows better to remark on it at this point, she just sighs and resumes her lecture on Of Mice and Men.

“So, do we think George killing Lennie is an act of mercy, or is he just tired of carrying this man along with him? Anyone? Luke?”

Luke tries to move like a turtle into his hoodie. Mrs. Hoyta is one of the few teachers who doesn’t get pleasure in forcing the introverts to speak up.

“Okay, Juliet?”

“I’m gonna be real with you, Mrs. Hoyta, it’s like two weeks into the school year and I haven’t had time to finish the book. Spoiler alert?”

Alyssa sighs, “Spoilers for a book from 1937.”

“Can’t we just watch the movie adaptation?” Evan says.

You sit on Mrs. Hoyta’s desk and try to make paper airplanes to throw at Nathan.

“So, did you read the book?”

“I can’t fucking concentrate with you talking.” He stage whispers.

“I read it in grade eight, but my middle school English teacher was pretty advanced. I always hated how he describes Curly’s Wife as less than human. Like, she doesn’t even have a fucking name, just her attachment to a man. She’s a thing or an animal that he kills.”

“Would you stop lecturing me!” Nathan says.

The whole class turns to him, alarmed.

“Well, Mr. Prescott, as this is my class, I will lecture as it is my job to do. Unless I need to call the Principal?” Mrs. Hoyta says.

At the same time you say,

“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I hitting too close to home? That you and your fucked up family capture girls and use them like livestock. That Red Room is a slaughterhouse isn’t it? Tell me, how come I’ve never seen your mother? Did she get sent down there too?”

“Stop it!”

He throws his desk at you.

But, to everyone else, it looks like he threw it and missed Mrs. Hotya by only about a foot. She’s shaking like a leaf. The noise is enough to get security sprinting in about thirty seconds later.

Nathan stands there panting, looking at his hands, then you, then Mrs. Hoyta.

“I didn’t mean to. Not at you.” He says.

Security takes him away. Juliet is rapidly typing on her phone. Alyssa is holding the side of her head that was almost hit by the desk’s leg.

“Holy shit.” Luke says.

 

* * *

 

Today you would have been eighteen years old. It’s a sobering thought.

Students are groggy emerging from their dorms, clad in warm sweaters that will be itchy come afternoon. The condensation on the windows offers you the rare opportunity to play Jack Frost. You draw hearts on Victoria’s window. She can’t see it with the blinds closed. Same reason she missed the deer-chewed flowers you brought to the sil.

You’d be annoyed about her missing your posthumous romantic gestures if you weren’t so fucking worried about her.

But, luckily, you aren’t the only one.

At 8 AM, Dana knocks on Victoria’s door.

“Victoria, can I come in?”

The only social activity she’s had in the past week is meals and a Facebook status update at 12:01 this morning.

‘Happy Birthday, Max. You said you’d see me tomorrow…  I’m still waiting for tomorrow.’

It takes fifteen minutes and a lot of persistent knocking and text messages. Finally, Victoria emerges from her cave wearing your baggiest shirt (a hunting Tee you ironically bought at a Portland yard sale).

She sighs, “What’s up, Dana?”

But she knows the answer.

“I’ve noticed you haven’t been going to class lately. I mean, I’m not the only one who’s noticed--”

“You’re just the only one who isn’t afraid of me.” Victoria sighs.

Dana rubs her nose, “Avoiding life won’t bring Max back.”

“She was my life,” Victoria gestures to the photos of you that line the walls, “I’m not avoiding her.”

“Victoria, Max wouldn’t want you hiding yourself away from the world. She loved you and loved seeing you bloom. She wasn’t the only one. There are people who care about you.”

Victoria’s biting back tears, “You don’t know what Max would have wanted. I should just move on after barely six months?”

No. No, the thought of Victoria moving on is like the worst thing ever. Her moving to LA and marrying some emotionally unavailable, older douche bro with a stupid goatee. Or, worse, her hunting down some dopple-you. She’d be a little taller and breathe through her nose instead of her mouth. Her smile would be even, and she wouldn’t make fun of Victoria’s hands. But, at night she’d pretend this not-Max was you.

That shouldn’t happen. Back off Dana.

“I’m not saying you should move on, just leave your Max Museum and go to class.”

Victoria pulls herself up to her full height. She’s contemplating her chances. Dana is taller and more fit than her. She does, however, have one disadvantage.

Victoria has a core of anger and fear that you tried to bleed from her with each soothing word. So long as she’s living with her parents, it’s never going to fade. You’re worried about Thomas growing up this way. Angrily lashing out.

“Fuck off, Dana. I didn’t need you or the little gaggle of hens mouth breathing outside’s input when Max was here, and I sure as hell don’t need it now that she’s gone. You do know that she’s the only reason I was nice to you losers, right?”

To her credit, Dana barely flinches. The broken nose probably hurt less.

“I’ll dial it in if it gets the dumb bitch squad off my back. Now, I need to get changed.”

You follow Dana out of Victoria’s room. Those remaining in the dorm are pretending not to be gathered around waiting. Dana shrugs, looking put out. The others gather around to pat her arms and shoulders.

Victoria exits her room to this scene.

“Oh my god.” She says while sighing.

They scatter back to their dorm rooms, avoiding the nasty dark cloud that follows her to the shower.

“Go to class, skanks.” She says over her shoulder.

The Queen is back.

Except, when Victoria gets to photography class she finds your table of three years occupied by a new girl. She’s strawberry blonde and has this California Dreamin’ vibe.

“That’s my seat.” Victoria says.

“I don’t see your name on it.” New Girl says.

Victoria points to the graffiti’d M.C. + V.C. = Meme Loving Fucks 5Ever you put there last year.

“I am VC, the Meme Loving Fuck.”

New Girl leans back in her chair, “Then why haven’t you been sitting here all year?”

She kind of reminds you of Chloe. If she looked over Victoria’s shoulder she’d see Alyssa shaking her head and Stella whisper screaming, “Rachel DON’T!”

It’s Taylor to the rescue, because honestly, this Rachel chick is pissing you off and Victoria’s got a shorter fuse and permanent record.

“Introductions! Rachel, this is Victoria, Victoria, this is Rachel Amber. Rachel’s a model, Victoria’s a photographer. You two should hang out.”

“You don’t need to worry about me punching the new girl, Taylor. Honestly, I can feel all of your tiptoeing around me. It’s really pissing me off. I’m not some schizoid.” Victoria huffs.

Rachel stands, gathering her things.

“MC, that stands for Max Caulfield, right? The girl from the missing posters?” She says.

“Yeah.” Victoria traces the letters, “Today’s her birthday.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Whatever. Just get out.”

Rachel decides this fight isn’t worth it. She sits in the spot second from the back. Kate comes bustling in with her violin case.

Ironically, Mark Jefferson is teaching photography this year. He enters in a cloud of smug wearing glasses without lenses. That’s not fair, Mark Jefferson is a great photographer, you shouldn’t be so judgemental. Something just feels off about him.

He raises his eyebrows seeing Victoria.

“Ms. Chase, such a lovely surprised to see you here. I saw your work at The Stork Gallery when I was passing through Seattle this summer. It’s such a shame about Ms. Caulfield.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jefferson.” She puts on that charm for just a second.

It makes you feel nauseous. She can be so two faced. Like that playground bully that overcompensated with good behaviour in class.  

Victoria drops the act and doodles in her book, listening to his lecture, out and about, but still not present. She doesn’t answer questions, she doesn’t talk to anyone.

Baby steps.

After class, Chloe pokes her head, then the rest of her body into the classroom.

“Heyyyyyllooo there.” Chloe gets distracted from her objective by Rachel.

Rachel looks amused by Chloe’s obvious leer. She throws a wiggle into her walk.

“Can I holla atchu shawty!” Chloe shouts after her.

“You know it!” Rachel responds.

Chloe rocks on her heels grinning before what she just said dawns on her. She turns to see Victoria standing and looking at her with perturbed disgust.

“Please tell me I didn’t actually say that.” Chloe says.

“Where did that even come from?”

“I don’t know! I blacked out!”

Victoria gesticulates with her hands a lot before finding words.

“I have no words. Why are you even here?”

Chloe snaps her fingers, “Taking you out. We’re skipping second period.”

“Thus bringing my attendance to one class this year.” Victoria sighs, “I don’t know if I can be seen in public with you after… whatever that was.”

Chloe jams a hand in her pocket, pulling out her cellphone. She holds a finger up in the ‘wait a minute’ position while she scrolls. She clears her throat, finding what she was looking for.

“February 6, 2012. We lost Max in a mall and you insisted the message the help desk broadcast be, ‘Haruhi, come to Daddy.’ Making literally everyone in the building’s asshole pucker from being so uncomfortable. This is me cashing in that embarrassment. Get your shit and meet me at my truck.”

Victoria’s a shade of red usually reserved for lovemaking. She keeps scoffing and struggling to put her books into her bag. She turns and sees Kate is still there and has been silently observing this whole time, well, she’s been stapling papers together, but she’s not deaf.

Kate lines all the pamphlets up by bouncing them on the table, sets them down, and then folds her hands in prayer making eye contact with Victoria.

“Oh, fuck off.”

Joking aside, Kate walks over from her desk to put a gentle hand on Victoria’s upper arm.

“Do you want me to get the notes from Math for you?”

“Yeah, that would be awesome, thanks Katie.”

“I’m not going to lie to you by saying Max is gone ‘cause God needed another angel, or even that she’s in another place. I respect your beliefs or lack thereof. I just wanted you to know that in times of grief being a part of a community helped me.”

Victoria nods, rolling her lips, a sign of biting her tongue. She leaves quickly. You follow, missing Jefferson close the door on him and Kate.

Chloe’s leaning against her big, red truck and smoking. She waves at Victoria with two fingers. In the back of her truck is boxes upon boxes of your missing posters.

You really hope they’re going to the Lighthouse.

“Where are we going?” Victoria says.

“Lighthouse.” Chloe says.

Yes!

Instead of following what will probably be a moody conversation between the two moodiest people you know, you have something more important to do.

Hopping locations is one of the few bonuses of not being alive on the physical plain. You can fast travel between locations of emotional significance, so long as it’s in Arcadia Bay. You tried to go to Victoria’s house and whatever entity keeping you here and sentient wouldn’t let you.

Your bored separation has actually been good for that. It’s given you time for these pet projects, or trails of breadcrumbs. You rearrange the remaining graffiti, just an A and an O. Perfect. Now, to find your deer body.

You stand in the bushes, still so invisible, eavesdropping on their conversation. Being a ghost has really warped your sense of boundaries, hell, the time travel before that.

“So, when you and Max fucked was she always kinda passive? I swear, she only instigated sex like twice when we were dating.”

Thanks, Chloe. She’s so full of shit. You instigated sex more than twice. You guess she’s counting her suggestions being the instigation, because she was too much of a chicken shit to make the first move.

Victoria smirks, but doesn’t say anything. Chloe looks at her and stops, gravel crunching as she digs her heels in.

“What the hell is that look?”

“What look?”

“That superior little smug face.”

“Nothing. Maybe Max just wasn’t that sexually attracted to you.”

Chloe stamps her foot, “She hella was!”

“Just saying, when we were together she was anything but passive. She pinned me to my own parents bed and ate me out until I blacked out for a few seconds.”

You’re blushing under your deer coat. Typical, they’re just like gross guys when they’re together.

“Okay, but were your parents home?”

Are they really gonna one-up each other on this?

“Because this one time, Max had a straight conversation with my mother while I was inside her.”

“Ew, Jesus! Uncle. I don’t wanna think about Joyce having to witness that.”

She scratches her cheek, looks at Chloe and lights a cigarette.

“Okay, but what about her orgasm face? I need to know that I’m remembering it right. She’d never let me take a picture.”

Chloe laughs, “You mean this.”

She parts her lips, exposing her top teeth and scrunching up her face like she’s going to sneeze.

“That’s the one.”

You’re going to kill them.

Heaving, they top the crest of the hill. Victoria pulls out her camera and snaps a few shots, cigarette still dangling between two fingers. Weird that you’ve missed that. She must have started over the summer.

“So, did you take me up here just to reminisce on how good Max was in bed or was that your opening for complaining about me stealing your girlfriend again?”

“Well, you did. We were fine until you came along.”

“If things were fine I wouldn’t have ‘stolen’ her so easily.” Victoria says.

It’s a low blow, and you’re wondering if you actually want these assholes back if they’re like this in your absence. You totally do, but, damn guys.

“Things were fine! You were just everything she wanted in one package. This sophisticated, hipster, omniglot who also happens to be a photography and anime nerd. You swooped in like some kind of fucking prince charming and it worked.”

Victoria sits on the bench, eyes fixed on Chloe.

“Is that how she saw me?”

Chloe scoffs and sits next to her, “You were her dream girl and I’m guessing she was yours. It fucking hurt to watch how perfect you were from the sidelines. The minute you walked into our lives, I knew it was over.”

Their truce extends to not acknowledging each other’s tears. Your time in this body is limited, but it’s not often that one gets to witness one’s own eulogy.

“And it pisses me off, because everyone treats you like the grieving widow, but I have to be cool with it because we were only best friends.”

Victoria leans forward, hugging her torso with her elbows on her knees. She flicks her cigarette off the cliff.

“Do you regret anything?” She says.

Chloe chuffs, “I regret a lot of things. Not fighting for her in a better way, I dunno, Max always got mad when we fought. I regret taking so long to respond to her text the night she disappeared, because it was about you and I didn’t really care. I regret not letting you cave Nathan Prescott’s head in.”

“Thanks for that, though. Juvie would have sucked.”

Chloe shrugs, lighting a joint. She takes a drag, then offers it to Victoria, who accepts.

“What about you? Do you regret anything?”

“I only regret not calling the cops when she didn’t check in. That fifteen minute window could have made the difference. I knew as I was driving away. I had a gut feeling and I should’ve gone back and told her I was scared to leave her alone. I thought I could trust Courtney. Fucking stupid bitch.”

That fifteen minute window would have made the difference. You keep that in mind for rewind reference.

Okay, this is starting to hurt, and not just emotionally. Time to make a move.

“So, you don’t regret anything about your relationship?” Chloe says.

“Honestly? No. When we were together we were inseparable. I never got bored of just hanging out. We never had big fights, because we were always having little figh-”

You stomp up to them. Chloe makes an alarmed noise and drops her joint on the ground.

“Holy shit, that’s a big deer.”

Victoria has her camera out and is rapidly taking snap after snap. You press on, scaring Chloe off the bench and sending her to lean flat against the lighthouse.

Victoria’s read books on wildlife photography, and she knows to take the shot and keep very still. You’re relying on it. Well, that and the gap between her cardigan and her tank top.

You get close enough to really look her in the eyes, then dip your head and lick the exact spot on her shoulder.

Victoria grabs your head with meat of her palms. You can feel her and she can feel you. It’s giddying. You dip your muzzle and press your forehead to hers.

“Max?”

You huff, blowing hot air down her shirt. She shivers.

“What the fuck?” Chloe says.

“Max, were you in my room?”

You nod.

“As a deer?”

You shake your head.

“Victoria, I think Frank put something in that weed.”

But she’s running her fingers through your fur and pressing kisses to your snout.

“This is gonna go down in lore as that time you made out with a deer. This isn’t Washington, keep it PG.”

Chloe wipes her palms on her jeans, and while still skittish, she reaches out to touch your haunch.

“Max, seriously, what the hell is going on?”

Now, for the grand finale. You move your head to point to the wall Chloe was just pressed against. They follow your gaze. On it is one of your missing powers, under that, the caption BAD WOLF.

Then in small lettering, “\/, I wood have said y3s”

“Bad Wolf? Bad wolf as in, Big Bad Wolf that ate Little Red Riding Hood? Did the Prescotts cannibalize you?” Victoria says.

You shake your head slowly.

“In the old myths, the wolf was a metaphor for sexual predators. Max, don’t tell me that they--”

You shake your head again. This is exasperating.

They stand there thinking and you thought this would be the easiest shorthand for what happened to you. Time Lord, give you strength.

It’s Chloe who catches on, she’s more of the Live Action TV fan.

“Oh shit! Like that arc of Doctor Who! You know, when it turns out that Rose scatters warnings all throughout time and space to let her past self know she’s on the right track to save the Doctor.”

Victoria blinks. She’s still patting your muzzle. You sigh, thank God.

“Max, are you scattered throughout space and time?”

Not sure about that. You deer-shrug. A fatigue begins to fill you. It’s too much. No, this wasn’t enough time. You need to be able to--

The deer’s body rejects you. It startles, jerking away from Victoria and dashing off in a mad panic down the slope. God damn it, you were so close, and now you’re too tired to do anything else.

“Max! Come back!”

Victoria’s running after it.

Chloe stops her.

“Max wouldn’t have run away from you like that.”

“Maybe something scared her, maybe she’s trying to show us something.”

“Or, maybe Frank just laced my weed with meth and LSD. Find your chill for a moment before we make our next move.”

They return to the wall you grafittied. Victoria runs her fingers down the makeshift V you made. She stands back and takes a picture.

“Okay, proof that we aren’t insane or high.” Victoria says.

She looks at the camera display and frowns. She zooms in on the picture she just took.

Chloe, curiosity piqued, leans over her shoulder to look.

“What is it, what am I seeing?”

You wanna know yourself, but you’re too short to see over Chloe, so you just kinda wait.

“Below the missing poster, doesn’t that look a hell of a lot like Max’s reflection?”

Chloe squints, “Can you enhance it?”

“Fuck off.” Victoria jerks the camera away.

“Victoria, it’s been a fucked up day and whatever just happened with the deer has you grasping at straws. Now, I need to look at some multiverse theory associated with time travel, so I can think of an explanation for this. Max might just be stuck between universe? Like, maybe an irregularity between the force between worlds occurred and Max somehow entered it?”

With Chloe gone, you can look at the photo Victoria took. She’s right. There’s your reflection, right where you were standing at the lighthouse.

That’s new.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was laughing and crying while writing the deer scene.


	7. AD PART TWO The Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this took an unexpected turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we have reached the end, dear readers. I'd like to thank you all for sticking with me this far. This is a milestone for me as a writer. It's the longest single story I've written, as well as being the first series that I have finished.
> 
> I couldn't have done it without the support of my beta, Femslashmonster, or without the lovely and wonderful comments from all of you. I'm sorry I killed so many of you all.
> 
> Sorry not sorry.
> 
> There is now a Soundtrack available, because I noticed how many songs I reference in this fanfiction. Like 28.  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLrHQuKpsnA6bSKmWs2B2YZWwXs2JoqZdA
> 
> WARNING: *Points to the Graphic Depictions of violence* This chapter is gory, it's not my favourite thing, I try to keep it brief and non explicit. However, be warned.

 

You are eighteen years-ish, you’ve been missing for about six months, and Victoria and Chloe have been aware of you for three days.

It’s helped, you think. Victoria opens her blinds now and sees the flowers you bring her.

“Max, are these from you?”

You wrap your arms around her from behind, but of course she can’t feel it. So, you summon a breeze to ruffle her hair.

“I’ll take that as a yes?”

“Yeah, dumbass, who else would be sending you deer-bitten flowers, Samuel?”

“Because if they’re not from you they’re from Samuel and then I’ll have to call the cops.”

“Aw come on, Baby, he’s just normal weird, not creepy weird.”

“I don’t care what you always say, he probably has dead bodies under the toolshed.”

You laugh because of how easy this is. And how absolutely fucking hard it is. You want to shove her and twine your fingers together. You want to curl up wearing nothing but your underwear and one of her shirts.

“At the end, you start to think about the beginning. You were so talented for such an amateur, I kind of wanted to hate you.”

She flops down on the bed next to you. She stretches an arm to pull something out of a pair of jeans on the floor, small, silver, and scratched. It’s your iPod.

“My first thought was that you looked really lonely… and pretty.”

“You know, I lied about what I’d do with Time Travel powers, if I could I would have gone back in time and told myself to wait. That you were going to come along and show me love and acceptance like it was the easiest thing.”

She takes a breath,

“And you’d make me self-conscious about my hands.”

“I like your big hands, it makes using a strap-on redundant.”

“Max, I swear to god, if you just made the penis fingers joke…”

You send a gust of wind toward the Stitch bobble head on top of her PC. She sees this and shakes her head with an eyeroll.

The gust of wind also knocks down a picture of you and her with your parents. She gets up and looks at it. That little wrinkle appears between her brows.

“I should… I guess, I should take your parents some copies of these. I’ve just been scared of seeing them.”

“They won’t blame you.” You say.

She’s a lone figure on a long plane. You get up and cup the outside of her hand. For a second you can feel the warmth and the softness of her knuckles. You jolt forwards, hoping to further the sensation. Victoria drops the photo.

“Max?!”

You’re grabbing at her hands, but it goes through. No warmth, no feeling. You sink to your knees and sob. Months of deprivation, chasing scraps, and for a moment you got to brush her hand. Why couldn’t it have been a kiss or a hug? A hug can go a long way after a traumatic event. Victoria’s good at hugging. She’s solid and warm, even though she always complains about being cold.

“Was that? Did you just touch me? Holy shit. I need to call Chloe.”

You use the gust of wind to make the photo float. Mom and Dad need her more than Chloe right now.

She looks at the walls she’s decorated with pieces of you and decides which ones she needs to keep.

The quad is all colliding pressure of the warm day and the chilly night. Brooke is leading some of the Freshmen biology students on a Bat Monitoring expedition. Their little black wings dart through the amber beams of streetlights, chasing bugs and diving over cars.

“You know, I was really looking forward to spending middle age together. Like, I see you with that ‘can I speak to your manager’ haircut that suburban moms get. I would, of course, have a moustache and khaki pants.”

For the drive to your parents house, she plugs the Auxiliary cord into your iPod and starts playing what she used to dismiss as indie garbage.

It shuffles to Youth and… well, damn this song hits a little too close to home. Victoria pretends not to notice, but by the verse,

‘I'm a lifeless face that you'll soon forget,

And my eyes are damp from the words you left,’

She’s crying so hard that she has to pull over.  

Fuck. You should be able to comfort her, but all you can do is blow gusts of wind and that doesn’t really aid the situation.

Victoria wipes her eyes and leans back against the headrest. She sighs and starts the car again.

The gravel crackles under the tires as she pulls into the driveway. The curtains hang loose and limp like moth wings. You see them flutter with movement. Mom and Dad are home in person at least.

Victoria bounces the box further up her torso as it slips on her sleek jacket.

The door opens before her fist makes contact with the wood.

Dad stands there and, God, he looks so much older. His hair is iron grey and the crows feet around his eyes now droop instead of crinkle. The crooked tooth in his smile makes him look withered and menacing instead of charmingly imperfect.

“Hey Jack,” Victoria says, “I’ve been going through our--my old pictures of Max, and I brought over copies of the ones I thought you and Emma would want.”

He looks at her from under his eyelashes. She shivers and sniffs, holding back tears.

“Jack, is it Max?” Mom’s voice is tired, but hopeful.

Dad moves aside to show Mom who their guest is. Her hair is streaked with silver and her eyes are so sad.

“Oh Sweetie, we were so worried we were going to lose you too.” Mom says.

They pull Victoria in for a hug and she clings to them. Your mom smooths her fingers through Victoria’s hair, and your dad presses his lips to her temple.

Your family, little and broken, but still good.

* * *

You would be eighteen. You need to fix this between worlds business. If this were some kind of fantasy or sci fi story, an old white dude would show up and tell you the prophecy you need to fulfill in order to get your life back. But, no, this is real life, and real life does not come with an instruction manual.

A good place to start would be Sean Prescott. However, you haven’t seen the man since he was pulling at your left hand and had you pinned to the floor of the dark room.

Nathan seems to be skulking around an empty home. Maybe there’s some kind of Lovecraftian dungeon in the basement. That sounds about right for the boring horror movie your life has become.

No, you need to get your deduction on, Sherlock. Need to Nancy Drew up in this biz.

Only, doing detective work is hard when you can’t open cupboards, or drawers, or type the passwords to computers, even if you can find them.

You can, however, hear all the secret conversations you want and see what the passwords are.

What you need is a partner who can do these things. Someone solid, physical.

You slide into the half-occupied booth at the Two Whales. Nathan always gets the Mac and Cheese with a side salad when he’s here and then stays for like two hours after he’s done.

You wonder how many real friends he has now that the Vortex Club is all but disbanded.

“Hey Nathan.”

“No. Whatever you are asking me, the answer is ‘no’. You got me fucking suspended, you little bitch.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. But, let me pitch my idea. A world where you are freed of me haunting you, a world where I get to feel cotton sheets and eat macaroni and hug my parents again. A world where life isn’t total garbage.”

Nathan laughs nastily.

“Not total garbage for you, maybe.”

“Nathan,” You lower your voice to that tone of soft concern.

The door tinkles open and in struts Chloe with Rachel Amber. She’s wearing her cleanest plaid and she looks like she’s combed her hair. Rachel’s eyes, blue, though greener than yours or Nathan’s, drift over the two of you. Nathan sees her and then turns rigid in his seat, looking anywhere but at her. Redness is creeping up his neck

“Nathan, do you like Rachel?” You lean forward.

She and Chloe pick the booth next to his. He grinds out a little grunt that you take for a yes.

“Damn it, why do all the good ones have to be rug munchers?”

You lean forward on your elbow, “All of the good ones? Nathan, I never knew you were attracted to me.”

“Not you. You’re creepy. Always just standing around staring with your mouth hanging open.”

You close your mouth.

“Wait, if not me then… Victoria?”

Nathan still isn’t looking at you, or perhaps behind you. You turn around and see Rachel, she’s laughing at something Chloe said and playing with her hair. Nathan seems to be very interested in his lap.

More, what’s on his lap.

“Is that my camera?”

He freezes.

“Nathan, if Chloe or Joyce sees you with that, they’ll go apeshit.”

“Shit. Shitshitshit.”

He leaves a wad of cash on the table and shuffles off like he’s crapped his pants. You move to follow him, but Rachel is still looking at you. Looking and not really seeing. You feel drawn to her. It’s like she’s a different colour than everyone else in town. She’s like the smell of ozone before it snows.

Out in the parking lot, Nathan freely inspects your camera.

“So, about our deal.” You say.

“What deal?”

“You help me find a way to get my body back. I dunno, maybe we can hunt down the philosopher’s stone. You can have a metal arm and a leg, I can possess a suit of armor…”

“Usually I find your nerdy shit annoying, but that sounds like an awesome idea.”

“Okay, let’s think of a way to get my body back.”

Nathan sighs and snaps a few pictures of the parking lot.

“That’s not gonna happen unless you can rewind time, which you can’t do because you’re dead, and Dad can’t do because you stole the power from him.”

You decide to sit on Chloe’s truck while he takes gross shots of a dead bird.

“What even is the power anyway? Why did your dad have it?”

“It’s something the original Vortex Club found in a cave by the Lighthouse. It needs an energy source, so using it too much can kill you. That’s what happened to one of his friends.”

“So, for the past thirty years, he’s been doing what… rewinding time to buy up the town?”

You pause.

Holy shit, that’s exactly what he’s been doing.

“Holy shit. That’s unethical as fuck.” You say.

“Duh.”

Nathan’s looking through the polaroids he’s taken. The look on his face goes from that resting serene smug to one that you’ve come to recognize as concern.

“Nathan, what is it?”

He holds up a photograph of you standing in the parking lot.

You put your hand over your mouth. There you are. You exist. You’re not just some imprint, a figment of an imagination. You could give this to your parents, to Tori.

“Nathan, you need to give that to my family.”

“And reveal that not only do I have your camera, but pictures of you alive? How the fuck do you think that’s gonna go for me? The cops will come to my house again, ask my dad where you are. So, yeah, that’s not happening.”

“But Nathan, that’s proof that I’m alive. Proof that you didn’t kill me.”

“Yeah, but there’s still no body.”

“Nathan, please!”

“Fuck off.”

He stuffs the photographs into his pockets and gets into his car.

You don’t follow him.

* * *

You are eighteen and watching Victoria work on a book report of Of Mice and Men. The window’s open and a light breeze is ruffling the hair at the back of her neck. You wish you could kiss it.

The other tab she has open is something about multiverse theory by R. Lutece. She’s so cute.

There’s a knock at the door. She turns to angrily squint at the threshold.

“Victoria? Can you come over and talk?” It’s Brooke.

Brooke doesn’t fall under the ‘do gooder’ category with Dana and Kate. Still suspicious about a potential intervention, Victoria goes to the door.

“What is it?” She purses her lips.

“I want to show you something.” Brooke says.

You and Victoria follow her into her room. It’s tidy with little nerd paraphernalia. It’s like she hasn’t really moved in. There’s a toolbox and a bookshelf full of books, but the rest looks sterile.

Then there’s her massive computer set up. The tower looks like a monster. On her two screens she has some audio programs set up.

“So, I was recording bats a week ago and picked up some weird interference. Like, there was a lot more chatter than usual. So I thought I’d try and lean it up by running it through Audacity.”

Victoria’s eyes widen. She has no idea what Brooke is talking about, you aren’t sure either.

“But, then that didn’t work, so I had to find a crack of Audition and put it through a few filters….”

She’s still talking, but it’s all Greek to you.

“And then I got this.”

She hits the spacebar for play and you hear your own tinny voice come out.

“was really looking forward to spending middle age together. Like, I see you with that ‘can I speak to your manager’ haircut that suburban moms get. I would, of course, have a moustache and khaki pants.”

Victoria covers her mouth with her hands. She’s shaking her head, tears dotting the corners of her eyes.

“Did you ever have this conversation with Max?”

She shakes her head.

You’re beyond words. That’s you talking. Posthumously. They can hear you. Bats can, apparently, hear you.

“Woah, holy shit, so I’m just speaking at a different frequency than everyone else?” You say.

The device on Brooke’s desk crackles and clicks with static. Brooke dives for it, plugging it into her computer and setting up a new project with the same settings.

“Max, are you in here?” She says.

“Yeah?” You say.

There’s a delay, and your voice sounds distorted, but there it is.

Victoria’s eyes are darting around the room.

“Baby, where are you?”

“You mean, like on a quantum level? Because, I have no idea. If you mean in the room, then I’m right by the foot of Brooke’s bed.”

You wait for the delay.

Brooke is frantically writing and pulling at her hair.

“Holy shit. Holy shit. This is a scientific breakthrough. I’ve just broken the barriers of transdimensional communication with a freaking bat reader.”

She’s still talking, but Victoria’s looking at you with searching eyes. She knows you’re there. She can hear you.

“Max. It is you.”

“Baby, you know I’d never leave you.”

“I need to go tell Ms. Grant, maybe call Neil Degrasse Tyson or Stephen Hawking.”

She’s gone in a jog, leaving the two of you in her room alone. You rock back and forth on your heels.

“Soo…” You say.

She interrupts before the delay.

“Max, where have you been?”

Then she hears the delay. God, it’s gonna be like a bad Skype call.

“Good thing West Coasters are used to having huge pauses between people speaking. I’ve been around town. Stalking you and the rest of the family, mostly. That or bothering Nathan.”

She laughs, a little hysterically, grabbing at the air around you.

“What was that… deer thing you did and the graffiti?”

“I dunno, it’s weird. I can only affect little bits of the world. I can rearrange graffiti, sometimes control deer, and Nathan can see me. Oh! Shit. He took a photo of me with my camera and I was there.”

You grab at her sleeves, or try to, bouncing on your toes. Her eyes are still searching for you, not fixed on the point where you are. It’s so close though.

“Baby, you need to get that photo. Maybe they can do science to it or whatever.”

Victoria sighs, rolling her head back on her shoulders and dropping them.

“Did you forget the part about Nathan having a restraining order against me?”

You fold your arms, “Okay, but since when has a piece of paper been able to stop Victoria Chase?”

Because you know her inside and out and a jab at her competitive nature and pride is the best way to get what you want. It’s selfish and shitty. You shouldn’t be using her like this.

You’d tell her to forget it, but that would just make it worse. There’s determination burning in those eyes now. An almost awkward silence covers you.

“So, um, how much have you been watching me?”

Her eyes are on her toes, and you rub a palm over your neck. You know what she’s thinking.

Two days ago, entering the room to find her hand between her legs and tears in her eyes. Your name was on her lips. You exited quickly. Walking in on each other wasn’t a big deal when you were alive, but that seems like too much of an invasion of privacy.

“Uhhhh… like, the healthy amount. If I see you’re doing something private then I leave.”

“Oh.” She rolls her lips, you read disappointment on her.

“Do… you want me to watch?”

She shrugs exaggeratedly, then begins to pace with her hands on her hips.

“I dunno, if you want to. It’s just kinda hot. Having you there watching me while I touch myself thinking of you.”

“It just makes me sad that I can’t do anything about it. That I can’t kiss or hold you.”

You sit on Brooke’s bed, then lean back so you’re lying prone and staring at the ceiling. Outside is eerily quiet. The birds aren’t singing. You can’t hear the usual rustle of activity from Samuel either.

“Max, are you still there?”

“Always.” You say.

It makes her choke into her hand.

“Do you… can you, still think of me when you’re touching yourself?”

She could ask questions about the unknown universe and because she’s Victoria Chase, she wants to know if unlife has made you any less sexually attracted to her.

“Baby, if I could, I would be taking you on this bed right now.” You try not to sound bored.

It’s not boring, just talking to her is a treat. It’s just the same old argument and set of issues that you wish your assurances would take away. You love her, you think she’s sexy, you don’t need to have sex with her to prove that.

“Do you wanna try and reenact the pottery scene from Ghost?” She says.

She’s cut short by an out of breath Brooke followed by Chloe and Warren.

“Where’s Ms. Grant?” You say.

“She went to the board of governors to challenge the new school surveillance policy.” Brooke groans.

Warren and Chloe are staring wide eyed at the computer. Oh yeah, this whole concept is probably brain breaking for them.

“Maaax?” Warren says.

“Hey Warren, sup Chloe?” You say.

Chloe presses herself back against the door. Her eyes are wild and her teeth bared.

“The fuck is this?”

“Well, Brooke somehow managed to translate what I’m saying. It’s a bunch of technobabble, but it works!”

Brooke rolls her eyes, “It’s not technobabble.”

“How do we even know that’s Max? It could just be someone pulling a prank, taking all of her phone conversations and scrambling them. It could be… demons for example.”

You laugh.

“Chloe, we could get a Ouija board if you’d prefer.” Victoria says.

You shoot a grin in her direction.

“You caught me, Chloe, it’s the Midnight Man. Better light a candle, fuckboy.” You use your scary voice.

She jams her hands in her pockets, face red.

“Shithead, you said you’d never tell anyone.” She says.

“Do you believe it’s me then?”

She runs a hand over the shaved side of her head, swearing under her breath.

“Okay, time to check the internet, because I have no idea what we’re dealing with.”

Research is slow, because there’s nothing like this out there. In the mean time, Brooke’s dorm room is cramped for the four of them plus you. Tensions run high with frustration. Victoria’s going to start yelling soon. She’s low blood sugar.

“Can we order food and maybe take a break?” You say.

“Good idea.” Chloe blows out a breath.

She gets up to order food. Warren looks between the spot where you are and Victoria.

“So, it’s just like Madoka?” Warren leans back in his chair.

“It’s nothing like Madoka, Warren.” Victoria says, still looking through her textbook.

“Lesbians, time travel, regret. It’s totally Madoka.”

“Warren, it’s not fucking Madoka. You’re wrong. God, you’re like a fake nerd boy. That’s how wrong you are.”

“Kids, the only thing the winner of this argument is getting is me pulling their underwear up their butt.” Chloe interjects.

“Max, do you feel like Madoka?” Warren says.

“Well, I did kinda give up life to become more of a theoretical concept…”

“It’s more like Eureka Seven AO.” Victoria huffs.

“Eureka!” Brooke says.

“See? Brooke agrees.”

Brooke looks over at the two arguing nerds with a squint. She holds up an equation.

“Oh, no, whatever you two are arguing about is dumb and irrelevant. Warren, can you please focus on this?”

He gets up with a scraping chair. Chloe returns and steals the chair.

“Two large pizzas, no ham and pineapple.”

“Chloe, can you help with this? You’re better at physics than me.” Brooke says.

She pulls the chair over to look. They’re all mumbling and talking over each other, trying to solve for ‘M’ or whatever.

“Max, do you know how your powers work?” Warren says.

“They just do. They didn’t come with an instruction manual. I hold out my left hand to reverse time, and I flatten it out in a stop motion to freeze it. Oh, and I can go back in time further through pictures, but I’ve only done that twice.”

That leaves a big pause.

“Max, you didn’t tell me you could do that.” Victoria says.

Oh. Oh fuck.

“Yeah, me either, when did you do that?”

You could bail right now, just leave to avoid the inevitable shitstorm this will cause. You take a deep breath, too late now, and it’s not like you can rewind.

“I said something really stupid last summer and I really hurt you. You went back to Seattle without speaking to me. It was two weeks, and I found a picture from that day and I was just filled with so much regret that I wanted to make it better. Make it so that it never happened.”

Brooke clears her throat, Warren scratches his arm.

“You know, I really shouldn’t be in the girls dorms.” He says.

He slaps his thighs and Brooke leads him out.

“Max, what did you say?”

“I’m gonna check on that pizza order.” Chloe says.

She leaves, closing the door with a click.

“I said we could take on the world together as photographer and model.” You sigh.

She bites her lip. Her hands bunch in her lap.

“But, I didn’t mean it like that! It just slipped out and you know that I love your work. All I meant was that you’re my favourite subject and you always say that I’m yours. I just should have said photographers and models. Pluralization has never been my strong suit.”

“I’m not mad, Max. Not at you, anyway. I can believe that I’d get pissed at you saying that. It’s just, perspective, you know? You’re gone and I wasted two weeks of being with you in that universe.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“It’s worth the world, Max.”

“Picture me kissing you right now.” You say.

You press the space where your mouth is against the space where hers is. A tear runs down her cheek.

Chloe and Brooke return with pizza. Victoria swipes at her face and sets about cleaning the clutter off Brooke’s bed.

“Pizza guy seemed pretty spooked. Said that he came across a bunch of deer just standing in a row. They were eating some dead birds. I told him that deer are actually omnivores, but yeah, it’s weird to see.” Chloe says.

She takes a bite out of her slice of pizza, chews, then adds, “No big deal, right?”

“It’s probably nothing.”

* * *

You are eighteen. Eternal. Infinite. A person who exists and does not exist. A paradox.

Or, so says the thesaurus of terms you’ve been trying to describe yourself with. You are the undead, trapped between two walls of glass and pounding to try and get out.

Only now people can hear you screaming. Thanks, science.

It’s not like there’s a pocket sized version of the audio setup, so you’re still in an isolation chamber for most of the day.

And, you’re still hiding from Sean Prescott. Not that he’s come looking, but you know he wants his power back, and he’ll do anything to get it.

The photography room seems safe enough for now. You sit on the desk that Victoria and you shared for years. Were you visible, you’d be blocking her view with your crotch. But, you’re not, and she’d prefer the sight if you were.

Jefferson is droning on about capturing the perfect subject. He’s blind to Taylor ignoring the lesson to stare out the window, or Kate and Hayden sharing a piece of paper to draw on.

“I could corner any of you in a dark room, and get that fearful response.”

Your face feels itchy, though you shouldn’t feel anything. Your hands are hot and your breathing shallow. Why is this happening?

Victoria clears her throat and opens a pack of gum. You can breathe again.

The bell cuts his lecture short. He’s still barking orders as students are leaving. Something about an ‘Everyday Hero’ contest. Some kind of vague ‘feel good’ drivel for budding photographers. Alone with Jefferson in San Francisco, that sounds appropriate. Jeebus.

You follow Victoria out of the classroom. Other students skitter and flee at the sight of her. She doesn’t seem to care, lost in thought. You hope she isn’t going to do anything stupid when it comes to getting the photo from Nathan. You told her to drop it, but she isn’t the type to drop anything.

Victoria stops by the science lab to check up with Chloe and Brooke. The science lab is otherwise empty, weird, Ms. Grant was supposed to be teaching today.

“Anything new?”

“Nada.” Chloe groans.

She puts her head down on her physics book. Victoria pushes a wayward hair away from Chloe’s fresh undercut. Cute.

Chloe hums in response to the affection. Brooke makes a frustrated noise.

“It’s so weird, no one has heard from Ms. Grant since yesterday. Not only that, people are going missing all over town, so we can’t even have a priority.”

“Why not just send a message without her?”

Victoria leans against the desk Chloe’s resting on.

“Bunch of eighteen year old students from an art school claim they can speak to the dead? Yeah, that’s gonna go over well. I can just the response being ‘fake and gayyyyyyy’. Might as well just put it on YouTube or Reddit if we wanna hear that.” Chloe says.

“If we had some more concrete proof. That picture you have of Max’s reflection, maybe, but they’ll accuse it of being photoshopped.”

Victoria bites her thumb. You know what she’s thinking of.

“Max said that Nathan was able to take an honest to god picture of her using her old camera, which he has, by the way. If we could just get that photo.”

“I’ll text Warren to try Nathan’s locker in the change room.” Brooke says.

Chloe stands up and stretches, “I’ll do something a little less legal. I like to call it the old B and E. He drives to school, right? Frank’s been teaching me about lockpicking.”

“Chloe no.”

“Chloe yes.”

Brooke cuts in.

“Warren got back to me. A bunch of antidepressants, some pens, and some fucked up drawings. Nooses and stuff. God, that kid would be the best goth if he put in the effort.”

“Yes, that’s Nathan’s biggest problem.” Victoria sighs.

Taking the moment of distraction, Chloe bounds out of the room with a bounce in her step.

“I can’t tell if she’s going to work for NASA or go to prison.” Brooke says.

Victoria shrugs. She follows Chloe’s path out of the classroom and into the main hall. She spots Nathan going into the girls bathroom. That wrinkle appears between her eyebrows.

She follows him in.

He’s talking to himself, a madness mantra.

“You can do this, Nathan. Just bang, and it’s all over.” He says.

“Nathan. What the fuck are you doing in the girls room?”

“Fuck you, dyke. Do the words ‘restraining order’ mean anything to you? Back the fuck up!”

“It’s the girls restroom, they can’t fault me for that.”

You spot a flash of blue in the corner. You inspect it. Rachel is standing behind the stall, grimacing and texting, trying to stay out of the conflict.

“I heard you have a picture of Max. One you took with her camera.”

“You are so full of shit. Who would even tell you that?”

He’s in her face effectively pinning her against the wall. They’re nose to nose.

“What about that restraining order now, Prescott? Give it your best shot, Daddy’s money can’t protect you against me one on one.”

Nathan chuckles and pulls a pistol out of the back of his jeans.

Holy shit.

“He might not be able to, but this will.”

He levels the gun with her forehead. She swallows. Holy shit. Rachel! Do something.

“Give me the photo, Nathan and we can forget all of this.” Victoria’s voice quavers.

“You’re no in the position to be making demands, Bitch!”

He sounds like he’s on the edge of tears. His hand is shaking.

Rachel Amber to the rescue.

“Hey! Drop it! I’m calling the cops.”

You watch in slow motion as Nathan jumps, squeezing the trigger. Victoria’s got his wrist in her hand. The bullet hits the tile behind Victoria’s head, red from the path in made through her skull.

She slumps to the floor, lifeless.

“No!”

You’re screaming through every universe you can perceive. You’re reaching out. You need to rewind. She can’t die. She can’t. You have to get through this. You’re going to be together, you have to be.

Time begins to move backwards, you look at your own hand and see who it’s clipping through.

Rachel Amber is rewinding time.

She’s like a magnet, or one of those ghost vacuums from Ghostbusters. You’re getting pulled into her. With your power comes a piece of you.

* * *

You wake up in photography class. You are Rachel Amber and you are nineteen years old. You are Max Caulfield and you are eighteen years old.

You are reeling in the pleasant afternoon sun because you just witnessed Victoria’s death in the bathroom.

Yet, there she sits, you turn to look at her. She has her chin planted on her fist as she draws pictures of intertwining rings and the Eiffel Tower.

You know this because you are Max. But, you aren’t Max. You are Rachel.

Did you just… rewind time? Jefferson just gave this lecture. No one is going to answer his question, so he’ll ask Victoria.

“Anyone, Bueller? Ms. Chase, if you’re so bored by the lecture, perhaps you know the answer.”

“The Daguerreian Process. Created by Louis Daguerre in 1839, but it was replaced by more cost effective method in the 1860s.”

“Very good, Victoria. Someone has been doing there homework!”

“Or someone was just awake when we had this same lecture in Sophomore year.” She says.

Jefferson’s ears colour, but he ploughs on through with his spiel. Okay, Rachel, be calm. You’re probably just having an acid flashback. You stretch, knocking your camera to the ground with a crash. It’s completely wrecked.

Fuck.

Jefferson doesn’t notice. Victoria does, she laughs, a puff of breath through her nose. Well, fuck you too, Victoria, maybe you won’t save her ass.

No! You have to save Victoria.

First order of business, broken camera. If you’re going down the rabbit hole of crazy bullshit, might as well start here.

You cup the fingers on your left hand and watch as time slows and then begins to move backwards with a flickering of red and blue light.

Holy shit. This is some dumb anime nonsense. This is not a thing that happens to real people. What the sweet hell?

You camera is fine and Jefferson is still droning on. Maybe if you undid another button on your blouse he’d let you leave early?

God knows, he leers at you enough to make the try worth it.

But, Victoria’s in class. We, you, just need to keep her out of the bathroom until Nathan leaves.

It feels like your head's in a game of tug of war.

You watch as Taylor looks wistfully out the window and a drone whizzes by. It’s so peaceful. Almost enough to make you forget the grisly scene that occurs in ten minutes.

Victoria sighs and crumples up the paper she’s been drawing on.

The bell rings and everyone gets up. Jefferson is reminding people(the girls) about the Everyday Hero challenge.

“Hey Victoria.” You say.

“Go away, Rachel.” She says.

“Do you wanna take this outside?” You say.

She looks down at you with a perturbed confusion.

“No? I already have a record for assaulting another student. Your wannabe punk ass isn’t worth getting expelled.”

“I meant like, to do an activity together? Let’s go outside and take pictures.”

Victoria shoves past you, “God, you are so weird.”

Rewind.

“Hey Victoria, if you go to the girls bathroom right now you’ll get killed by Nathan Prescott.”

Just try the straight up approach. You’re not gonna dig through her hope and fears. Just talking to this bitch is exhausting.

“What?”

“Just trust me and don’t go to the bathroom down the hall. Go to the dorms.”

You shoulder your bag and walk toward the door.

“Hold up, Rachel, I have a friend who needs a model and I was thinking of giving him your number. Not without asking you first of course.” Mark says.

There are burn scars on his hands. You never noticed before, but he’s holding out a business card and his eyes are glittering like black buttons behind his glasses.

“Can I think about it?” You say.

“Sure thing. Just, don’t wait too long.”

He probably tells all the girls that they’re going to be a star. You pull your flannel tighter around your body as you leave.

Nathan’s entering the girl’s washroom when you’re accosted by Victoria’s huge handed grip.

“How the fuck do you know the future?” She hisses.

“I just found out, okay? I was in the bathroom. I saw it, and I wanted to stop it from happening, so I just used my left hand and--”

You wave a hand around your face, “Whoosh. Like rewinding a VHS.”

She searches your face, she’d be prettier if she weren’t such a huge bitch. Whatever lie test this is, you passed. She folds her arms over her chest.

“Come with me.”

“Are you going to assault me again?” Your haunches rise.

“No. Sorry. Can you please come with me?”

You pat yourself down, fix your hair, and don your sunglasses before saying, “Lead the way.”

Early October is cardigan weather and most of the people outside are in thin sweaters. The bus is pulling away, taking the townies home. Across the street stand a herd of horned deer. Don’t males live separately? Their bodies and horns look like shadowy black trees.

One steps out into the road, it’s coming for you. That’s not a deer.

Victoria touches your arm and you jump.

“Are you coming?”

You look back. The deer have moved closer and no one seems to notice. As you walk towards the dorms, you see Samuel, the custodian, looking at the woods with a pinched face.

“This is very bad.” He says.

You shudder and pull your flannel around you.

Victoria takes you back to the dorms. Part of you wonders if she’s trying to rebound you, but it’s Brooke’s room she takes you to.

“Hey, Fuckface, we have a problem.”

Warren opens the door, “Were you talking to Brooke like that?”

“No, I definitely meant you. Brooke’s testing her high frequency translator drone.”

Your eyes roll back into your skull because you have no idea what these nerds are talking about, and you have an English paper to procrastinate on. It was supposed to be due today, but Mrs. Hoyta is still on sick leave for depression.

“Why’s Warren in Brooke’s room?” You sigh.

“Best place to study temporal imbalances in the timeline and the weakening between dimensions.” He says, but he turns his neck and you see a hickie.

A gaggle of Sophomores pass you on their way to the stairs. Victoria boxes you in closer to the door to hide Warren from view.

“Get in there.”

“You’re not the boss of me, Victoria.”

The door closes hard behind behind you. Brooke’s room looks like it’s regularly neat, but invaded with clutter. Her desk is covered in physics textbooks and notes. Her wall is covered in post-its, and there are cans of Monster everywhere.

You’ll stay close to the door. If anyone tells you to take a red or a blue pill, you’re gonna bounce.

“Rachel has Max’s powers.”

What?

“What?”

“That time reversal you described. Max could do that.” Her voice cracks.

“Interestink. Somehow Max managed to transfer the power?” Warren says.

Every time he opens his mouth Victoria looks annoyed. At this point, you’re sure she hates everything minus herself, cameras, and her dead girlfriend.

“She got the power from Nathan’s dad.” Victoria sits on the bed.

“Hmm, what if it’s a parasite? It can hop from host to host.”

He keeps talking as he sits at Brooke’s computer and does some searching.

You feel awkward being here. This is going way over your head. Today has been a fucked up ride and you just wanna light up and take a nap.

“Do I need to be here for this? My head hurts and my dorm’s just across the way?”

Victoria looks conflicted, but she needs your cooperation, so she shrugs.

“I’ll come get you when we need you.”

“Thanks, Rachel.” Warren says.

You walk across the hall to your own room. What a weird fucking day. You’re in the process of turning on your Hifi when you hear a scream followed by a wet thud.

There are people jogging across the grass toward the front of the dorm. Security guards. Some frantically on their radios. Feet go thundering past your door. You don’t want to know what happened, but curiosity gets the best of you.

One of the security guards is in the front lobby blocking the doors.

“Don’t come out here! This area is off limits!”

There’s screaming coming from the quad. The taller girls are peeking over his shoulders. You hear sirens.

You rewind time to before the screaming, before the guards, just after that thud. You exit the door to see Nathan Prescott smeared like jam on the pavement.

Standing on the edge of the woods near the totem pole, is that group of deer. The one at the front licks its lips.

* * *

You are nineteen years old at the end of the world.

The flashlight on your phone lights up the path before you. You didn’t think the trip to Two Whales would be so bad on foot.

But, then the sun went out.

An eclipse typically lasts seven and a half minutes. The moon covered the sun five hours ago.

Your phone illuminates a pile of black limbs. You shake as you hold it higher, showing the full bodies. It’s those deer.

The herd of stags turns too slowly, too mechanical. They seem to move like a school of fish.

One opens its mouth and the others follow. The jaws open with a sickening crack of bone and cartilage. The mouth, dripping with black bile opens too far. It takes its neck with it.

The growl that comes from them echoes with bass in your bones.

Those are not deer.

You run. Run past cars. Hop fences. You need to get somewhere inside. Somewhere with no deer.

The Two Whales.

The door to the diner swings open. Joyce is standing on one foot, looking tired as you walk in.

“Hey, Rachel. You look like a mess. Is everything okay?”

“The deer in this town are trying to kill me.” Is what Max would say.

What you say is, “I’m fine. Trying out this urban exercise thing.”

“Rachel, it’s nine o’clock. Though, with this eclipse, I can’t tell what time it is anymore.”

“Yeah.” You check the windows.

The moon covered the sun yesterday and the locals are still coming in for pie and coffee. The fisherman outside is manning his post, passing out pamphlets. Keep Calm and Carry On.

The truck pulls in and you sigh, sitting at your usual booth. You cup your eyes to the glass and watch as Chloe, Warren, Brooke, and Victoria pile out of the cab. Chloe waves to Joyce as she comes in.

“Hey Mom.”

“Chloe, Victoria, other friends.”

They all slide into the booth with you. Warren starts talking, Brooke covers his mouth and silently waves.

“Rachel, what’s up, what’s the emergency.” Chloe grabs your hand.

“Evil deer are trying to kill me.” You say.

Brooke rubs her temples, “I’m ordering a milkshake.”

“Aren’t you lactose intolerant?” Warren says.

“If I’m fighting killer deer in the pitch black, then the stomach ache is worth it.”

Warren drums his hands on the table.

“Okay, I want one too.”

Joyce arrives, looking concerned.

“You kids look like you’re at a war meeting.”

“In a manner of speaking.” Victoria says.

Joyce raises her eyebrows and mouths ‘okay’.

“Can I get you kids anything to eat or drink?”

“Black coffee and the belgian waffles.” Victoria says.

Joyce winces as she writes down ‘MC Special’.

“All of the bacon, Mom. It’s the end of the world and cholesterol doesn’t matter any more.”

“Two milkshakes. One chocolate, one banana.” Warren says.

Brooke looks at him over her glasses. He kinda smiles and winks.

Aww.

Joyce looks at you.

“Green tea?”

Everyone groans.

“And a orange soda float?”

Joyce leaves with an assurance of ‘coming right up’.

“So, the deer are not what they seem?” Chloe says.

She slings an arm around your shoulder and you realise this could be a triple date if Max weren’t dead.

Victoria notices too and sniffs loudly, inspecting her nail beds.

“I just saw them eating dead birds, and when I got close, they turned their head like… fully around. Like an owl or a robot. And then they opened their mouths.”

You use both hands to mime the nightmare jaws you saw on the deer.

“So, if anyone wants to back out, now would be the time.” Victoria says.

“Where the fuck are we gonna go? It’s the end of the world and we still have school tomorrow.” Brooke says.

Joyce brings over three malt cups filled with the excess, along with your cold drinks. After sliding them down she fills Victoria and Chloe’s coffee cups.

“Food’ll be out in a second, kids.”

You’re chewing on a piece of bacon when you see the herd of deer creeping into the parking lot. There are more than there were before. As if each thing they eat makes them multiply.

“We need to leave.” You say.

Victoria wipes some whipped cream off her plate and pops it into her mouth.

The sailor outside screams.

“Holy shit.” Warren whispers.

The streetlights illuminating the parking light are flickering, their bulbs exploding in a rain of glass.

Shoes squeak on the tile as the other patrons stand to watch the scene as it occurs.

“We need to leave now.”

You push Brooke out of the booth, she’s still staring at the parking lot.

The coffee cup Joyce is refilling overflows as she stares. It knocks her out of her reverie.

“Damn it. Now I gotta get a mop.”

“Mom, we need to leave.” Chloe says.

She looks at the deer who are walking close still, with their calm footsteps. You can see the sweat lining her brow.

“Out the back. Through the kitchen. Take my car.”

“Mom, we’re not leaving without you.” Chloe’s voice cracks.

“I’ll call your father. He can bring the big truck to come and get me.”

“My truck’s in the parking lot, we can just use that.”

Victoria tugs Chloe’s sleeve. She turns to see the deer taking huge bites out of metal and rubber. Their jaws unhinge, exposing those black, glittering teeth.

“Fuck.”

Joyce holds up her keys.

“You gotta go right now, girl. Get somewhere safe.”

Chloe hugs her, shaking, “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too. So much.”

“Gogogogogo.” You pull the others with you through the kitchen. Some bacon burns on the griddle as the cook watches the parking lot in horror.

You push past him, running past racks of dishes and spices and out the back door. The alley is clear for now. The homeless woman is nowhere to be found, but you can hear the screaming of Frank Bowers. You feel like you’re going to vomit.

“Everyone get in the car.”

Luckily, it’s Arcadia Bay and people still leave their doors unlocked. You pack into the back between Brooke and Warren. Victoria gets shotgun, while Chloe peals out of the lot.

The deer all turn their heads, then move to follow you.

Good. You might be able to save the diner.

Bad. The nightmare stags are after you.

Worse. A lot of the streetlights are out, so Chloe’s driving only by headlight.

“It’s the end of the world as we know it.” Warren says.

“This is it, the apocalypse.” Brooke says.

“Black hole sun, won’tcha come.” Chloe says.

“And bring the impact of the extinction level event.” Victoria says.

You pause, the others in the car look at Victoria.

“What the hell song is that?”

“Oh come on, Busta Rhymes?!” She slaps the dashboard, “Ugh, white people.”

“Funny. You’re more white than me.” Brooke says.

Her hackles are raising. You grab her shoulder.

“We can watch the world devoured in its hate.” You say.

“Goddamn, that was a cool moment.” Chloe says.

“We totally did like an apocalypse remix. Brooke, remember that for the next time you’re playing around in Audition.”

“Yeah, I’ll keep it in mind if we survive tonight.”

All along the streets and sidewalk you can see hoofed feet pushing against pavements like roots.

“Chloe, drive faster.”

“Rachel, I can’t see shit, I’ve already had one car accident and I don’t wanna tempt fate.”

“Okay. We need a game plan.” You say.

“You need to go back in time six months.” Victoria says.

“Do we know if she can?” Brooke says.

“She has to. Otherwise, there’s no way of fixing this. The only ones who could have helped are dead.” Victoria’s voice breaks.

“Do you have any pictures from six months ago?” Warren says.

“On my Instagram. Do you think I could print them off and try to enter the print? Is there like… some magic about polaroids?”

“I think it works on any picture you have a strong emotional connection to. That’s what Max said, anyway.”

The part of your brain that is Max feels like it’s giving you an affirmative. Or that could just be the placebo effect.

The car bounces on potholes.

There are no potholes on this road.

Brooke starts gagging. Victoria turns on the radio to distract you all.

Static.

Then in a calm, but distorted voice, “She doesn’t belong.”

A shudder runs through you. Victoria turns the radio off, but it keeps repeating through the static.

“She doesn’t belong.”

Chloe speeds up, the school’s in sight. You can see other headlights, the bus is pulling out. You hope that it’s full of students. It slows down, seeing the lamps of the car.

Chloe rolls down her window. David’s behind the wheel of the bus, but his head is bleeding.

“We’re gonna try to put an end to this.” She says.

Dana leans out of the third window, “Good luck!”

The bus drives back towards town. Maybe they’ll rescue those still at The Two Whales.

You’re still hoping this is some awful apocalypse dream. Real life isn’t like this. Life just goes along, no matter how fucked up the environment and the middle east get, life just stays the same.

It’s not allowed to be this strange.

The car creeps along up to the front of the school. There are less deer here than in the parking lot.

“Okay, game plan. Let’s run to the science lab. There we can build weapons, and you guys can run across the hall to the photography lab to print out Rachel’s picture.” Chloe says.

“Should we split up?” Warren says.

“No. Let’s try not to be white people in a horror movie.” Victoria says.

“We stick together. We go fast and stay low. And, we hope to God that the school doors are still open.”

Chloe pulls a handgun out from under the seat.

Victoria’s eyes widen.

“Joyce is not in the neighbourhood of fucking around.” She blows out a breath.

“Okay, once we’re out of the car, it’s pirate rules. If you fall behind, you get left behind. We’re finishing this once and for all. I love you all, except Warren. So, Brooke, don’t kick my ass. On three.”

“Love you too, Chloe.” He says.

“One.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a huge bitch lately.”

“Two.”

“No one blames you, Victoria.”

“Three!”

You all pile out of the car, running up the steps towards Blackwell.

There are stags everywhere, moving like sickly shadows. They do not run, they do not charge, they walk slowly.

You can hear the twisting metal as they start to eat the car behind you. Your arms and legs pump, pushing you faster, towards the door.

It’s open, thank god, and you go pouring in to the empty hallways.

The whole thing is lit by red emergency lights, giving that dim, dark room effect. Your brain goes into overdrive.

The dark room. Kicking and screaming as you’re being dragged through the darkness. You break the glasses of the man holding you and he swears.

But, Chloe has your hand and is pulling you down the hall.

“I think we might be able to wipe out those deer with a few pipe bombs. Who has, a few dollars.”

Brooke backtracks to the vending machine.

You catch your breath in the science lab. Chloe and Warren barricade one of the doors, and set about looking for ingredients.

“You get the weed killer, I’ll get the sugar.” She says.

Victoria is chewing the skin around her nails.

“We need to go to the photography room.”

“Well, hurry I need duct tape too.”

Chloe and Warren don’t care about smashing through cabinets and breaking glass. Right, the deer aren’t zombies.

Brooke comes in with three soda cans.

“Come on.” You grab Victoria.

You cross the hall and see a shadow through the glass.

Someone’s in the photography room.

Victoria pushes through. Mark is standing rigid, staring at the ground below the window.

“Go print your picture.” Victoria says.

You see the tape is over by the printer too. Mark still doesn’t acknowledge that you’ve entered the room.

“This is her fault, you know.” He finally says.

Victoria grabs the tape, while you frantically sign into your account.

“If Maxine had just cooperated and not struggled, none of this would have happened.”

_You butted your head against his chin. It knocked you both unsteady. His grip didn’t waiver. Your legs kicked out, but he grabbed the back of your collar and pushed._

_Shoving you head first into the developing basin._

_Chemicals coated your mouth and nose. They burned your eyes._

_They burned his hands._

“You killed her.” You say.

You killed me.

Victoria drops the tape, “Nathan didn’t--”

“He was there in her final moments. She seemed to curse him. He couldn’t take the guilt.”

Victoria’s hands are over her mouth.

“Damn Caulfield couldn’t leave well enough alone.” He says.

Victoria hits him with a chair. He pushes back at it, but she charges forward pinning him in a corner.

She’s screaming or maybe you both are. He doesn’t fight back.

“What will this fighting solve? It’s the end of it all anyway.” He says.

“It’ll make me feel better.” Victoria says.

You don’t look. You print your picture out and ignore the sound of wet meat, and the smell of fresh iron. There is whimpering, and it stops. Then the hits sound wetter.

A selfie from six months ago. You were at the beach with some friends. A good moment to go back to.

“Let’s go.”

Her cashmere sweater is covered in blood. She breathes with these great sobbing heaves.

“Victoria, come on.”

She wipes her eyes, only succeeding in smearing blood across her cheeks.

“Whoever says revenge doesn’t feel good is fucking wrong.”

She drops the chair and follows you back to the classroom. There are deer at the end of the hall, creeping forward with their sneaky feet. Their blackened mouths are opening to whisper.

“She doesn’t belong.”

You charge into the science room.

“Someone please give me good news.” You slam the tape down.

“We have three pipe bombs, a blow torch, and my mom’s gun.” Chloe says.

The weapons sit on the desk in front of her like some options for a video game. Victoria enters the room smelling strongly of blood and lighting a cigarette.

“Holy shit, Victoria are you okay?”

She nods, eerily calm.

“She just killed Jefferson with a chair. I think she's in shock.”

They stare in frightened silence. Brooke and Warren back up, putting a desk between themselves and Victoria. She doesn’t seem to mind, and instead pauses to clean brain matter off her glasses.

“He killed Max.” Victoria says.

Chloe sobs. Warren punches the desk. Brooke covers her mouth.

“What’s our next move?” You say.

There’s no time for grief or revelation.

“Well, hopefully, you teleport back in time and this nightmare ends.”

“The deer are past the vending machines.” Victoria’s leaning out the door checking on their progress.

“Here goes.”

Warren and Victoria stand guard at the door. You sit on the desk and stare at the photo.

Focus. Remember how that day felt. Think about what you regret. What you need to do differently.

The world gets fuzzy. You can hear the crashing ocean, remember the sun on your face. Everything’s out of focus. You try to adjust it, but black spots appear on your vision like when you rewind back too far or too fast.

“No. No. No.” You shake the picture.

“Why isn’t it working?” Chloe says.

“Deer are very close.” Victoria reports.

You rub your temples, “I don’t know.”

It needs to be both of us.

“I think, I need a picture for Max to go back to too.”

“Does it have to be from the exact same day?” Brooke says.

“I don’t know. It would help.”

“When’s your picture from?”

You can hear the approaching click of hoofs. You’re out of time. You rewind to before trying with the photo.

“Rachel, come on.”

“It doesn’t work. I need a picture for Max to return to.”

“Victoria, please tell me you have something.”

She searches her pockets, frantic. She finds her wallet and checks it.

It’s a rumpled picture of the two of them at fourteen. Too long ago. Victoria’s in tears.

“I’m sorry. I have one in my room. We took it the day she…”

“We need to get to the dorms.”

Chloe trades Victoria the gun for a pipe bomb. You grab one of the others, groping in your pockets for a lighter.

Warren grabs the other, leaving Brooke the torch.

“Everyone make a break for the emergency exit.” Chloe says.

She runs out first, gun drawn, and kicks open the door. You follow, neck and neck with Brooke with Warren and Victoria taking up the rear.

You’re running. Eyes ahead, feet up, hopping over any obstacle. Just don’t look down. Go ahead.

There’s an explosion behind you and you know.

Victoria never left the building.

The part of you that is Max is screaming. We need to go back. Rewind. She doesn’t need to do this. Oh, God, Victoria, no.

But, you are Rachel, and you keep running.

You’re almost there.

There is a wall of stags blocking your path. Chloe fires at them, making pop-popping noises that cut through the too quiet night.

You fumble with your lighter but your palms are so sweaty. Brooke lights Warren’s bomb with her torch. He spins like a shot putter and throws it into the herd.

It explodes, taking enough with it to make a hole for you to run through.

You stagger run after them, Warren first, Brooke, Chloe, then you. There’s this dark cloud that smells like burnt rubber and coats your tongue and throat.

You hear a shout from ahead. Warren’s made it to the end of the hole, and there’s another stag.

It’s too late for him. Brooke’s screaming and setting the beast on fire. Chloe reaches for you. You drop the last pipe bomb at Brooke’s feet. If she needs it. Your eyes hurt from the smoke and unshed tears.

The dorm is locked, of fucking course, and you need to fumble with your key card to open it.

“Come on!” You shout.

The light goes green and the door unlocks with a click.

The third explosion comes as you enter the dorms. Everything seems calm here, untouched, like it’s just another night.

Any moment now, you’re going to bump into Kate practicing her violin, or Stella and Alyssa will be watching some popcorn flick in the common room.

Victoria’s room is unlocked. You inhale deeply as you enter. Chloe checks the chamber of her gun and swears. Two bullets left.

“We need to find the picture she took the day she died.” You say.

Rather, the words come out of your mouth, but you feel as if you are watching yourself say them.

“Shit. That could be any of these.” Chloe pulls at her hair.

“Do you remember what she was wearing last?”

“Jeans, hoodie, and a T-shirt. Guess what? That’s 80 percent of these.”

You’re looking at the photo walls. Some have younger looking versions of Max and Victoria. That helps.

“What would Victoria do with that specific picture. The last picture of Max?”

“Making me think like Victoria makes my brain wanna cry.”

Just being in this room so full of pain makes you wanna cry.

It wouldn’t be out for everyone to see. It’s too valuable to be somewhere someone could steal it.

But, it would be somewhere Victoria would have easy access.

Chloe’s sitting on the bed, pulling out box after box to look through.

You walk past her and lift up the pillow.

There it is. That has to be it.

Wrinkled at the edges. Victoria looks the same age, but with short blonde hair. Max’s eyes are crinkled. She looks like she’s laughing.

The world is going in and out of focus. Something taps at the window.

Oh god. The deer look like they’re trying to shift into some grotesque human hybrid.

“Lovely. Wendigos,” Chloe says, “The fuck is this, Hannibal?”

“I think this is gonna work.”

They’re knocking at the window at it’s so fucking creepy that you’re finding it hard to concentrate.

“I’m gonna put some music on.”

Victoria’s laptop is still open, and has power. Chloe hits play on itunes. The Pixies starts crooning from the tinny speakers.

“I’m sorry we had to meet under such unfortunate circumstances.” Chloe says.

“For what it’s worth, I really like you.” You say.

She smiles, but tears are streaming down her face. You wipe them away with your thumbs.

“What’s gonna happen to you after I go back?” You say.

“I don’t know. I really hope there’s like a white universe fixing light and then this stops. Otherwise, it’s really gonna suck.

A black deer hand breaks through the window.

Chloe hisses, “Shit. We gotta speed this up.”

You kiss her.

“Wanna go out with a Fight Club reference?” You say.

“God, you are so fucking cool.”

You hold her hand and say, “You met me at a very strange time in my life.”

She laughs.

You stare at the pictures in your hand. The window breaks open, but you do not hear it. Chloe fires the gun, but you do not hear it.

_You hear the crying of seagulls. You hear Kate getting ready next door._

_You’re being pulled apart at the seams and the universe with you._

_Your head will collapse if there’s nothing in it and you’ll ask yourself--_

* * *

_\--where is my mind?_

The world is fuzzy with the flash. Your head feels stuffed with cotton and you blink away stars. You are seventeen years old again.

Victoria’s looking down at you with concern.

“Everything okay, Mad Max?”

You can feel the warmth of her hip through her shirt. The cotton is soft. A breeze filters in through the window tossing your hair. Victoria’s dropping the camera on the bed and grabbing your face.

“Max? You look really out of it.”

You lean into the feeling of her palms. They’re dry and warm. You want to pour yourself into the grooves of her handprints. You wrap your own hands around them and turn your head to kiss a palm.

God, the feeling of skin on skin, your lips like velvet against her.

You drag your hands up her arms to her shoulders, cup them, and trail down her back, still sensitive from the scratches you left. She shivers.

“Baby, you’re scaring me.” She says.

“I’m sorry.” You breathe.

She gathers you in her arms and you just settle against her chest for the longest time. You inhale the scent of her neck and she buries her nose in your hair. You feel like crying and you’re not sure why.

“I just really need you close right now.”

“Work for me.” She laughs.

“I mean it, I always need you close. Always.”

“I’m going to remember that for the next time you get irritated that I’m being too clingy.”

There’s something you’re supposed to do today. What is it?

Oh yeah, that algebra test.

Your phone rings and you groan. Victoria lets you go. You grab your phone off the bed and push Victoria down onto it, sitting on her lap as she goes.

Unknown Number from California. Probably a telemarketer. There’s something in you demanding that you answer it. It could be a dealer or gallery asking for your work.

“H’yello?”

“Hi, is this Max Caulfield? My name is Rachel Amber. We’re gonna meet, hopefully, in about six months. Listen. You can’t go to Nathan Prescott’s house tonight. It sets in motion a fucked up universe and basically the end of the world. Tell Victoria that the party won’t happen if you work on the banners there anyway. Um… I don’t know if I was supposed to go into that much detail. Don’t go over there.”

You go from an incredulous smile to having it slide off your face. It’s coming back to you. Having your head dunked in the developing chemicals. Gasping. Everything burned.

You’re shaking.

“Thank you, Rachel.”

“Hey, it isn’t supposed to happen, okay? The world gets all topsy turvy when it does. So, don’t worry that you’re going to fuck things up.”

You swallow and hang up. Victoria looks down at you, giving her a cute double chin.

“Everything okay?”

“I can’t go to Nathan Prescott’s house tonight.” You say.

“Okay, why?”

“I die if I do. Just got the heads up from a partner in time.”

Victoria’s brow furrows because the idea is hard to comprehend for her. You’re here and now. Her hands grip your legs. She starts tearing up.

“Max, this better not be a fucking joke.”

“I wish. That future is awful. I don’t fully die, I get stuck in between places, so I can see and hear you, but you can’t see or hear me, and we can’t touch. I watched you in so much pain. My parents. Vic, we can’t let that future happen.”

You lie down on her. Her hands are digging into the flesh of your back, bringing you closer. Her breathing is ragged inhales and sharp exhales. You don’t need to feel the wet, fat tears to know how hard she’s crying.

“I’ll do anything to keep you alive.”

Her phone buzzes. She doesn’t reach for it, not wanting to let go of you for a second. As if letting go of you will result in you dying then and there.

The phone rings. You groan and wriggle like a cat winding up to leap. She keeps her hands around you and you grab her phone.

It’s Courtney. You hit speakerphone.

“Hey, Victoria, I screwed up and spent all last night writing my paper and totally blanked on making banners for the dance.”

“Don’t worry about it, Court. We’ll just print out posters.” Victoria says.

Courtney pauses in her confusion, “Okay, but just yesterday you were being super anal about it being done.”

“My priorities have changed. Good luck with your paper, Court.”

Another pause. You grab one of Victoria’s earlobes with your teeth. She smiles and runs a thumb over your chin and lower lip.

“Who are you and what have you done with Victoria?”

“I am Max and I have done many things with Victoria, and I intend to do many more things after she hangs up this call.” You hiss into the receiver.

“Alright, whatever.” Courtney hangs up.

Your jeans are shoved down your legs, you kick them off and you’re pushing her out of her shirt. The polaroid camera from William slides until it’s tumbling off the edge. You don’t pause to check its state. It’s just a camera.

You’re here and you’re alive. You can touch and taste and smell.

Touch. The feeling of soft thighs cradling your cheeks. Hair being tugged.

Taste. Skin, salty. Victoria’s nectar, bitter and slick on your tongue.

Smell. Savoury, heady, like sweat and animal. Then, the crook of her neck, artificial spice and flower. Her chest is heaving and she holds your head in place.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She says.

“Be really sad.” You say with your chin resting on her chest.

“That’s a given. I mean, in that future, I wonder what happened to me.”

“You were really sad. You had to be dragged out of your dorm and you wore lots of black and my old clothes.”

You can’t stop stroking her skin. You need to assign every groove, knick, and scar to touch memory again. You’ve been careless and have forgotten the location of the trio of freckles on her lower back.

Stretch marks on her thighs and hips, a few burn scars on her hands and wrists.

One on her chest from where you accidentally gouged her with your braces. That makes you smile. You drop kisses to each shoulder, like rain dappling her skin. It could be that or your tears.

Every breath is an airy sigh.

Her fingers are raking your hair back.

“Max, stay with me.” Victoria pulls you up to eye level.

“Always. I mean it.”

Your alarm for Algebra goes off. You swipe your phone and grunt, resting your chin on the centre of her collarbone.

“Should I risk leaving this room to go to math. What if something happens to me on the way? What if the universe is holding the axe over me?”

You can’t breathe.

“Max, look at me.”

The tunnel vision her eyes give you have you taking breaths in and out.

“If you were supposed to die today, a time traveler wouldn’t call you to tell you otherwise.”

But it sounds like she’s trying to reassure herself.

“Let’s agree to not leave this room, preferably not this bed, today without the other?”

You nod, feeling your breathing even out. You want to stay close, but your bodies piled together is too hot. You’re going to get sticky. You should shower.

“Wanna go take a shower?”

She checks the time. You’ve missed your first classes.

“Yeah, lets go.”

You drink orange pop under the spray because you’re dehydrated and this might be your last day on Earth.

If that’s true, then you’d think that you’d like to do some huge, dramatic gesture. Robbing a bank or standing in two places at once, maybe throwing a party.

All of that kinda pales in comparison to spending time just hanging out with your favourite person in the world.

You lie in bed watching Eureka Seven’s unabashed optimism at true love being the power that stops the end of the world. Or, you’re watching it, Victoria is watching you closely.

“This is your favourite episode.” You say.

Her eyes look black in this light. She kisses your cheek. You can feel her breath on your ear with each exhale.

“Wanna order a pizza?”

“Whatever you like.” She kisses you again.

Certainly not Pad Thai. That’s a bad omen. At least for today. You’re not giving up delicious peanut noodles out of some death superstition.

You check the time as you call, 5:30 already? Jesus, you really have wasted the whole day.

Not a waste. This is all you wished for in you life as a ghost. Just one more day together.

She twines her fingers with yours and you kiss each tip. You’ve changed your mind. There’s something else you need to do.

You need to be brave.

“Baby, let’s go to my house for dinner.”

Victoria’s eye widen and she swallows hard. The route to your house doesn’t go anywhere near Prescott Manor, but fear does not know logic. Your mind is overplaying images of your car being sucked into a warp dragging you there, to your death. Of all roads leading to Rome and being trapped into this loop until eventually you strangle yourself in the crib.

“I disappeared from their lives too.”

The sun is setting to a lovely pink-orange. You snap a picture, capturing you own reflections in the window. It gives you a smile. Youth shuffles onto your iPod and Victoria does not cry, she changes the song. You tap your fingers along with Ani Difranco’s staccato guitar. She’s a beast, you hope you can be that good someday.

Victoria honks as she see’s William’s car. He’s standing outside the diner waiting for Joyce. You wave.

The neighbour’s cat is in the driveway, the car chasing it back over the fence. The AUX cuts with the engine.

The front door is ajar, with a literal jar holding the screen door open.

“Nice visual pun!” You shout.

“Thanks!” Dad says.

He’s got a one of the old armchairs in his hands and he’s trying to maneuver it through the door.

“Oh good, you’ve brought Victoria with you. I could use an extra pair of hands.”

She sighs and flips you off. You grin and kiss her cheek. You’re too small and feeble to lift big comfy couches or chairs. Instead, you visit Mom in the kitchen.

“Hey.” You hug her from behind.

You bury your face into the back of her flannel collar. As an adult, you know that your parents can’t keep you safe from everything, but that doesn’t stop the rush of calm that comes with scent memory.

“Hey, got a call from your school today. Apparently you missed,” She does her best imitation of the automated voice mail, “Block 1, Block 2, Block, 3, Block 4, Block 5.”

You dig your head into the fridge looking for salad ingredients.

“Yeah, had a weird feeling about today.”

Mom pulls the fridge door away to look at you.

“A weird feeling, Maxine Caulfield?”

That’s her no-nonsense voice.

“I dreamed I died,” You say “Not just one of those falling dreams, but an elaborate death scenario. And it all started today. Me dying, that is. So, I got kinda scared, and I told Victoria about it and she got really scared, so we spent the day in bed.”

Your parents know the two of you are intimate. You’ve been having grown up sleepovers since you were sixteen(as far as they know). Still, it feels weird to insinuate it.

Her brow is furrowed and her lips are in a thin line. It’s her worried look, and yours, actually.

“That does sound like a good reason to hide from the world for a day.” She says.

“I figure that our otherwise spotless records can compensate for skipping one day.”

You hear swearing from the front lawn. A look out the kitchen window shows that, while no one is injured, the loveseat has taken a dive into the tomatoes. You wince.

“I wouldn’t call it spotless, but you’re off the hook. Don’t do it again, etc, etc.”

“Barring another death scare, I think we’re good.”

In storms ‘the men’ to wash years worth of dust off their hands. Victoria’s hands are still wet when Mom hugs her, before she gives Dad a kiss.

“I know where your loyalties lie.” Dad says.

He’s faux pouting with his arms folded and his nose in the air.

Mom shoves him towards the dining room.

“I was just thanking our hero, here. Victoria saved Max’s life today.”

Victoria looks down at you and groans, “You told your mom?”

“Turns out the school is a fucking narc.”

Dad looks between the three of you for an explanation.

Mom says, “Apparently, Max had an elaborate death dream last night, and our Victoria here,” She pinches Victoria’s cheek, “Kept her safe all day.”

She’s got her eyes and head down looking adorably humble.

Dad goes upstairs and Mom rolls her eyes.

“Victoria, hun, Jack was supposed to set the table, would you mind reminding him.”

She looks very uncomfortable at that idea. You pat her back with a cucumber stained hand.

“Trade you jobs?” You say.

Her knife skills are subpar, but she takes your spot at the cutting board. You take the stairs two at a time until you’re at your parents room.

“Hey, can you save your silent fight with Mom for another day and go set the table?”

He’s leaning against the window. He pushes off with a sigh. Dad ruffles your hair on his way out.

“Yes, Boss.”

But his tone says that he’s still pissy. You’d wonder what they were fighting about before you got here, if it weren’t always money or personal issues.

Oh, and then there was the time you heard Dad blame Mom for your autism when you were like ten. She still hasn’t forgiven him for that.

You follow him down the stairs and see Victoria hovering by the door.

“Your parents are having a spat.” She says.

You shrug and follow her into the dining room.

Dinner is a tense affair. You and Victoria do most of the talking while Mom smiles coldly behind her wine glass and Dad’s eyes are on the table.

After cleaning up you chase Victoria upstairs to your room with the promise of studying. She puts on one of your baggier shirts and shorts as pyjamas.

“We were undressed all day and now you’re getting back into pyjamas?”

You’re checking Facebook. She’s on your bed re-reading Saga.

Logan has sent you a message.

“Max stop turning the other girls gay, it’s not fair.”

“logan. bro. you know how awesome and soft girls are. it’s not my fault. uwu”

“Okay, but stop playing guitar around them. Like all the girls in Math class were talking about how hot you are and that Victoria’s so lucky.”

“dude, just learn guitar. it’s what took me from ‘nerdy spaz with braces’ to whatever they’re calling me now.”

“The short hot photography lesbian.”

“siiiiicccckkkk”

You turn around in your seat, “Hey Victoria, I’m the short, hot photography lesbian!”

“This is news?”

“That’s how people identify me now.”

“How do they identify me?”

You type back to Logan.

“is victoria the tall hot photography lesbian?”

“...........ish.”

“what is she”

“The angry big handed photography lesbian.”

You snort too loudly and Victoria’s getting up to see. You put a hand over the screen, she’s trying to drag it away.

“Max, let me see!”

“Nooooo.”

You get up and push at her hands until she’s stumbling back onto the bed. You attack her neck with snuffly little bites.

“We should study.” She says.

“The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.”

Her phone rings. You sit back on your heels and hand it to her. Oh yeah, the gallery.

“Hello?” Victoria says.

You watch the way she lights up hearing that they want more of her photos. You grab your camera and take a few pictures. She flips you off, mouthing ‘I am on the phone’.

You get up and sort through the photos of hers that you have in your room. There’s a beautiful set she took of the waterfall near the junkyard. She got a lot of interesting negative space with the trees. You drop them in a pile on the bed while she’s finishing up thanking them.

“How did you know?” She says.

“I’m from the future, duh.”

“Then what am I gonna do next?”

“Scan and email these to the gallery?”

She slaps you on the ass.

“Or that.”

The clock reads 11:30 when you hear sirens. Victoria covers you with her body. You flatten yourself against the mattress. Your mind and pulse are racing. What if they’re after you. They know you’re not supposed to be here?

The gaping jaws of those nightmare stags. How they dripped with black bile.

Victoria stands and totters over to the window. She pushes open the curtains.

“Weird.” She says.

“What?”

“There’s a family of deer in the yard. Hang on, let me get my camera.”

“Get down!”

“Why?”

“In that other universe the deer weren’t what the seemed. They were interdimensional anomaly killing demons.”

She turns all the way around and closes the curtains tight. Like, you really appreciate that instead of looking at you like a crazy person or even questioning it, she’s just like “nope, fuck that”.

“Wait, seriously?” She backs away from the window.

You tug her back into bed on top of you.

“Yeah, it was fucked up. You got killed by a bunch.”

You bite your tongue and look at the wall. Shouldn’t have said that.

“I died?”

You roll your head back to look at her. She pokes you in the cheek.

“Yeah. You sacrificed yourself so we could all come back and try again… I think you took out a bunch of them. We heard a big explosion. You were carrying a pipe bomb...”

She tips off you to stare at the glowing plastic stars on the ceiling.

“Hhhhholy fuck.” Her hands cover her eyes.

“It was awful.”

“Alternate future me was a total badass.”

“Don’t get any ideas.”

You lie awake listening for that horrible crunch of the stags busting down the door and eating your parents, thundering up the stairs.

Instead, more sirens.

“Well, I was dead by this time last round.”

Victoria clings to you.

“Tell me about that other world.” She says.

You look at her from under your eyelids. Will telling the whole story somehow rupture space and time? Or will it just sound like some episode of Doctor Who. You run your hand over your mouth a few times. Well, the truth hasn’t killed you yet.

“I got killed at Nathan’s house, but I used my powers to leave my body, so I didn’t fully die. Instead I became a kind of ghost or… poltergeist? The consensus was that one of the Prescotts killed me, but it was actually Mark Jefferson.”

“Wait, the photographer?”

You turn your head to look at her, she’s squinting in confusion.

“I know, right? He’s friends with Nathan’s dad. They sacrifice girls in the dark room for some fucked up thing. I think it has to do with my time travel powers.”

“You think?”

“Well, shit, Victoria. It’s not like some time wizard showed up and gave me the whole story. This is pieced together from what I managed to learn from Nathan, Brooke’s experiments, and scary deer.”

Victoria is silent.

“I said ‘time wizard’ and now you’re thinking about Prisoner of Azkaban.”

She rubs her eyes with the heels of her palms, shrugging.

“I just don’t understand why Fred and George didn’t mention that a dead man was sleeping with their brother for years. You’d think that would raise a few red flags. Or why they didn’t notice that Mad Eye Moody was named Barty Crouch Jr.”

“I’m seriously telling you about my own time travel adventure and you’re picking apart plot holes in Harry Potter.” You dip your chin against your chest.

The little light that’s leaking in through the curtains catches on her wet cheeks. She takes a shaky breath.

“Picking apart Harry Potter is keeping me from having a full on meltdown right now. Like, Max, you’re telling me about a world where we died.”

“You died twice, actually.”

She grips your shoulder so hard it hurts, “Not helping.”

“Well, everyone died except like… Chloe and Rachel. Not sure what happened to the bus full of Blackwell students or the people in the diner. I mean, I assume they got eaten by killer deer, but the deer seemed to be solely after people who they thought didn’t belong in that universe… so, who knows, maybe they were fine.”

You snort and wriggle on the bed.

“What is your problem, Weirdo?”

“Nothing. Just picturing Road Warrior versions of Blackwell students. Dana with rocket skates and a nail bat. Kate turning her violin into a crossbow.”

“So, to summarize. You died, I was sad--”

“Hella sad.”

“Hella sad, time deer came into the picture and started eating everything--”

“Oh, wait, I forgot to mention that I could possess female deer and we kinda made out like that.”

“You’re fucking kidding me. You are a goddamned liar, Max Caulfield.” She hits you with a pillow.

“One hundred percent true. You were so glad to see me that you were kissing my muzzle and I was licking your face. So, you did fulfil your promise of loving me no matter what shape or form. Kudos.”

She grunts, “Anything else?”

“I possessed Rachel to the point where she got my powers and I stopped being a ghost and was more like a squatter in her head. Made it awkward when she was making out with Chloe.”

You wait for a response. Nothing. Not the best sign.

“Anyway, Nathan killed you by accident, Rachel rewound and saved you, then Nathan killed himself on purpose, you killed Jefferson, then you blew yourself up with a bunch of nightmare deer, Warren got eaten and Brooke took herself out with the deer that ate Warren.”

Victoria sniffs loudly. She pulls your body on top of hers, she’s wrapped around you like a protective python.

“Heavy shit.” You say.

That earns a wet chuckle.

“Promise me you won’t die in your sleep.” She mumbles.

“Always.”

\--

The morning does come. It’s been getting a lot warmer in the mornings and this one is no different. You awake to the chorus of your alarm, Victoria’s alarm, and your Dad leaving for work.

You shower together to save time and water. Mom’s at the table talking to a client on the phone when you get downstairs.

You grab coffee and apples for you and your lady love for breakfast. Mom finishes her call.

“Did you hear? The Prescott’s house burned down last night.”

Your heart sinks into the pit of your stomach.

“Is that what the sirens were about?”

Mom sips her coffee, “Mhm, apparently the father had a friend over and they dropped a cigarette indoors. Too drunk to notice.”

Nathan poured his father and Mark some scotch, dumping the rohypnol into the glasses and swirling them around. He handed one to his old man, head down, avoiding eye contact.

“I thought your friends were coming over tonight.”

“Cancelled. Big test tomorrow.”

The effects of the drugs didn’t take long. Not with that high of a dose. He waited until they were sluggish before dumping the rest of the scotch on them.

“What the hell are you doing, Boy?” His father slurred.

Nathan lit a whole carton of carton of cigarettes and dropped them on the men.

“Nathan, please, you don’t know what you’re doing.”

He said nothing as he ascended the stairs and locked the door. Nathan got in his car and drove off to the diner. There he sat and ate a whole sweet potato pie waiting for the emergency vehicles to drive by.

The vision hits you like it’s your own. You rub your own temples. Holy balls.

Victoria enters the kitchen wearing your ‘significant otter’ shirt, shorts and sneakers.

“What’s up?”

“Nathan’s house burned down last night. His dad was still in it.”

She breathes out slowly and sharply. Your mother mistakes it for grief. She hugs Victoria. Over your mother’s shoulder, her eyes widen. You mouth, ‘I know’ at her.

There’s a knock at the door.

You go to open it, but Victoria’s still in ‘protect the bae’ mode and shoves past you.

It’s Nathan looking exhausted, but happier than you’ve ever seen him.

“My father’s dead.”

“I’m sorry, Nathan.”

He meets your eye and there’s that tired recognition. Does he remember…?

“We need to get rid of it.” He says pointing to your hand.

“Yeah. Agreed.”

Curious, Mom comes to the door.

“Oh my goodness, Nathan, are you okay? Can I get you a coffee?”

He brushes a hand over his hair. A shy gesture.

“I’m okay, Mrs. C. Thanks though.”

She nods, arms folded. Mom and Nathan met once or twice in passing. They’re not friendly, but Mom does like to be appropriate when someone’s whole life has just gone up in smoke.

“Maxine, let your friend in.”

“It’s okay, Mrs. C. I was just stopping by to give Max the homework she missed before class. You have a good day.”

He turns on his heel and heads back to his car.

You lean against Victoria, watching him leave.

“We should get going too.” You say.

“Yeah, do you wanna drive? I have to write out a few essays on my phone.”

“The drive is like fifteen minutes.”

She’s already finishing her coffee and has her phone out.

“Okay, we’re going to school now, Mom. Love you.”

Every day is the first day of the rest of your life except for one.

You need to remember that now. Say what you need to say to the people you love. Make it so they have no doubt once you’re gone. And, you know where to start.

Turning on the ignition, you brush a thumb against Victoria’s bare shoulder.

“You know, you’re my dream girl, right?”

She looks up from her phone, “Are you getting all sappy on me?”

You pull out of the driveway, “I just want you to know that whenever I’m making fun of your hands or calling you my garbage wife, what I mean is that you’re perfect to me… and I wanna marry you.”

You stop at the curb and pull the ring out of your hoodie pocket. It’s nothing too fancy, not ‘two months paycheques’ or whatever. It’s gold with a citrine at the centre.

She’s got tears stuck to her eyelashes and she whacks you with a huge hand.

“You asshole!”

You can’t bite back the grin anymore, nor the cackle that bubbles up inside you.

“Max! I had a fucking carriage ride planned. Catacombs, Max. I was going to ask you to marry me in a tomb, because you said it’d be romantic when we were fifteen.”

You start driving again, still snickering as she punches the glove compartment.

“Now we can enjoy those things without you getting stressed out over whether or not I’ll say yes.”

“I hired engagement photographers!”

“For a tomb? They don’t let you use flash photography down there.”

Her essays are forgotten, she’s grumbling and putting the ring on and trying really hard to not smile.

“No, for the carriage ride,” She looks at it gleaming in the sunlight, “When did you get this?”

“Remember that time you lost me in the mall and called yourself ‘Daddy’ on the Help Desk announcement?”

* * *

You’re seventeen years old and full of life. It’s been a week since the Prescott house burned down, but you can still feel those cold fingers of fear on the back of your neck. You check your shoulder a lot now, and cross the street if you see a buck.

You wake up to morning breath on your face and a text from Nathan.

“I know how to get rid of it. Meet me by the lighthouse after school.”

Your left hand, now heavier with the weight of the solid jade ring. You haven’t reversed time in days, not since you accidentally stepped on a dog’s paw. That needed to be undone. Dogs toes should be safe.

“ok. bringing wifey.”

“w/e”

You roll over to blow air onto Victoria’s eyes until she’s annoyed enough to wake up. The alarm beats you to the punch. She groans and a large paw reaches out to cover your face.

“If you’re going to wake me up by blowing me, it better be the other way.”

You lick her palm, earning a disgusted noise and squished cheeks.

“I could rewind time and wake you up that way.”

Her body goes rigid at the suggestion. She gets up and sets about getting dressed. You use your cellphone to capture a shot of her rolling on stockings. She’s making an ‘A’ shape with her body and sunlit dust motes dance around her legs.

All through class your knee is going wild. You’re tapping your pencil to the rhythm of your twitchy nerves. Today’s the day, no more going back, no more freezing. Just a normal life. You never did wreck a sex shop. Too late now.

Victoria’s being kind of hilarious with her engagement ring by bringing her left hand into view as much as possible. She answers questions more frequently just to show it off. You, on the other hand, settle for running your ring over your lips and thumb.

You told Chloe about your alternate universe fling into the future. Her response was to pat your head and say, ‘okay, Max’. So, you asked Rachel to text her so she’d believe you.

Now, Chloe is always on her phone.

The drive up to the lighthouse is crackling with tension. You’re sitting shotgun, fiddling with the AUX cord. You can tell that both Chloe and Victoria are distracted because neither complain about how indie your music gets. Either that of you’ve trained them too well.

Nathan’s sitting on the bench smoking. You text him instead of startling him by yelling or touching him. He puts his butt out with his heel and puts a fresh cigarette behind his ear.

He looks good. Softer and more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him. He leads you to the building by the lighthouse. There’s a weird metallic rattling inside. He holds up a set of keys and unlocks it.

You hug him. He tenses up, raising his shoulders, breathing shallowly, unsure of what to do. He pats your back a little. You pat his hair.

Chloe and Victoria stare between you. It’s a little out of left field, but despite everything, you feel sorry for the guy, and you’re glad he’s okay.

The metal rattling is coming from a grate over top of what looks like a hole in the ground.

“Nope. Nonononono.” You hold up both hands, “Not going anywhere near that.”

“We have to. That’s where the power comes from.” Nathan says.

“There is probably lava and CHUD down there.”

Nathan opens the grate.

“Or maybe it’s the gate to hell.” Chloe offers.

“You aren’t helping.” Victoria says.

“I promise you, it’s full of graffiti and this weird hum, but that’s about it.” Nathan says.

You, Nathan, and Victoria will be going down. Chloe’s staying out to call the cops if you’re gone longer than an hour, or to shoot Nathan if he emerges without you or Victoria.

“Keep me updated as long as you can.” She says.

You take a deep breath and enter the abyss.

It’s pretty well lit for a tunnel underground. You just keep your eyes on Victoria’s back.

Polaroid Corporation, founded on Edwin H. Land’s belief that consumer markets should be created around inventions generated by scientific research, is a world leader in instant photography. The company manufactures and sells more than 50 types of film and more than 100 cameras and instant camera accessories. Instant photography products, since their 1948 debut, have consistently provided the bulk of Polaroid’s income.

You’re clicking your sinuses and just reciting these facts in your head when you bump into Victoria’s back.

“This is the spot. I stole my dad’s journal from his high school days. The original Vortex Club was exploring down here when they found that.”

He points to big ass scary looking wall covered in what looks like latin and outdated graffiti. In the centre is a glowing left handprint.

Victoria touches the wall, her lips are moving and her brow is furrowed.

“Are you trying to read the latin?” Nathan says, “Don’t tell me that’s one of the ten languages you speak.”

She shakes her head, “It’s five, and, no, but I do speak French, Spanish, and a little Italian. Romantic languages have latin roots. I’m getting like, every fifth word. Context would help.”

“It doesn’t matter. My dad and his friends already translated it. Control time with the ‘Hand of God’. Side notes include, it’s powered by human life force, so don’t overuse it or it will kill you. It can be passed through contact... and, something about if you fuck with the time stream then some kind of protectors will come and undo the damage you’ve done.”

Victoria whimpers and looks at you. You should be fine, you haven’t abused the power (much). You’re just glad you ignored all of Chloe’s suggestions of what to do with it. That would explain the ‘non-lethal’ sacrifices at the Prescott house.

“Does it say anything about them being scary nightmare deer?”

“No, it does say that the punishment fits the criminal, or whatever that means,” He snaps the book shut, “Anyway, just put your hand on the rock and try to rewind.”

You blow out a breath and brush past Victoria on your way. Nathan’s foot is tapping and he’s worrying the pages with his fingers.

The stone is smooth and warm against your hand. Your whole body is shaking so hard your teeth chatter.

“Should I say an incantation?” You say.

“Rewind Max.” Nathan says.

Okay. Here goes.

It doesn’t hurt, per se, it does feel like your hand is taking you on a one person roller coaster ride. The lurching makes your ears pop and you bite your tongue. It tastes like pennies. It’s too much. You’re going to throw up. How long have you been here? Thousands of years? Since the dawn of time?

Everything stops and you’re panting with a bleeding mouth against the wall. The hand glows pale blue and lights up the latin. Then, silence, and the brightness fades. The gravity holding your hand in place lets go of it like pulling your hand out of sticky mud.

Victoria catches you as you stumble and collapse.

“Did it work?” You all say.

You hold out your left hand, smiling at the jade ring and try to rewind.

Nothing, just the sound of air from the top of the tunnel.

“I’m buying this fucking place and filling it with concrete.” Nathan says.

He waits for you to be able to stand before leaving. Victoria is content to piggyback you to the surface.

“Baby, I can walk.”

“Max, let me have this.”

Chloe’s throwing up outside.

“Dude, are you okay?”

Chloe gives you a thumbs up.

“I was so nervous I had like four smokes in ten minutes.” She says.

Victoria lets you down and you take a deep breath of the fresh air.

The sun is full over the lighthouse, thin shadows stick to the edges of their masters. The wind wraps around you and lets go with such a strong gust that you can’t help but lean back and whoop.

Arms wrap around your middle, tethering you to the earth. You tip your head back to catch Victoria’s descending lips. Your hands cover hers, engagement rings clicking together.

Nathan shakes his head, freedom dawning on him. He screams into the wind and punches the air.

Chloe howls along with him.

It’s a perfect moment to freeze time.

You take a photo.

**  
  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Youth by Daughter
> 
> Shadows settle on the place, that you left.  
> Our minds are troubled by the emptiness.  
> Destroy the middle, it's a waste of time.  
> From the perfect start to the finish line.
> 
> And if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones.  
> 'Cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs.  
> Setting fire to our insides for fun  
> Collecting names of the lovers that went wrong  
> The lovers that went wrong.
> 
> We are the reckless,  
> We are the wild youth  
> Chasing visions of our futures  
> One day we'll reveal the truth  
> That one will die before he gets there.
> 
> And if you're still bleeding, you're the lucky ones.  
> 'Cause most of our feelings, they are dead and they are gone.  
> We're setting fire to our insides for fun.  
> Collecting pictures from a flood that wrecked our home,  
> It was a flood that wrecked this home.
> 
> And you caused it,  
> And you caused it,  
> And you caused it
> 
> Well I've lost it all, I'm just a silhouette,  
> I'm a lifeless face that you'll soon forget,  
> And my eyes are damp from the words you left,  
> Ringing in my head, when you broke my chest.  
> Ringing in my head, when you broke my chest.
> 
> And if you're in love, then you are the lucky one,  
> 'Cause most of us are bitter over someone.  
> Setting fire to our insides for fun,  
> To distract our hearts from ever missing them.  
> But I'm forever missing him.
> 
> And you caused it,  
> And you caused it,  
> And you caused it
> 
> \-----------------------------------
> 
> It was originally going to end after Nathan shot Victoria. Making it end at the beginning of Life is Strange episode one, but reversing Rachel and Max's roles. Max with the silent advice and Rachel trying to unravel the mystery. Then I thought "would I find that a satisfying ending as a reader?"
> 
> No. No, I would not. I'd ask for a sequel, and I have other things I need to write.
> 
> So, there you go kids. Here's your happy ending. Please tell me how the ride was.

**Author's Note:**

> I felt conflicted about the first scene with Chloe, because I was worried about her coming off too harsh. This scene is actually based on some of my own interactions with my dad as a teenager. Teenagers are dicks. Keep that in mind when reading this.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Chiaroscuro](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4505481) by [4mation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/4mation/pseuds/4mation)




End file.
